


A Beautiful Fiction

by Thestarlitrose



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young Still Has Powers (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Fake Character Death, Food, Good Omens Big Bang, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Other, Parental Rejection, Smut, Soul Bond, Temporary Amnesia, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/pseuds/Thestarlitrose
Summary: Nineteen years after having his memories of Crowley stolen, Aziraphale encounters Warlock and has everything come rushing back to him. Together; with the help of an ex-antichrist, they embark on a journey through the Southeastern, United States to locate Crowley to bring him home, where he belongs.Chapters with smut and other potential triggers will be listed in the notes.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Comments: 117
Kudos: 290
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019, Ixnael’s Recommendations





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Crowley's Fall, The First Great War in Heaven, Rebellion.
> 
> This fic follows the book timeline-- Which is the apocalypse happening around 1989, putting our story in 2008. It does however reference events from the TV show.

Artwork by the lovely [3226629](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3226629/pseuds/3226629)

[For the full image, click here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632595)

As two Angels dined at the Ritz, two more were plotting their ruin.

Gabriel had worked tirelessly, putting his own desires aside to work towards the Great Plan, and it failed spectacularly. Michael hadn’t understood, had even seemed almost _relieved_ the Great Plan had failed. Uriel only brushed him off, taking the side of the traitor once he’d survived hellfire. “It must have been ineffable,” she said.

He slammed his fist down onto his desk. 

His errant brother and the disobedient Principality had just ruined everything, but what was new? 

He recalled how, eons ago, Raphael had pestered and prodded Mother about Her plans until She could take it no longer. _“Why must you test them to ruin? If they are your greatest creations, why allow them to suffer so? Why should they suffer for your love, Mother?”_ he’d asked. 

Raphael’s Fall had been a shock to them all. 

The rebellion had resulted in numerous casualties ending with the casting out of scores of their brethren. As the remaining host had been mourning the loss of the others, while wounds were being tended, Raphael had gone from angry to incandescently furious. His grief and rage were palpable; ethereal power thrumming off him in waves. He questioned Her, unrelenting. _“Why would you allow this to happen? Angels were not meant to be separate from you. They loved you, as we love you. Why would you send them away? We lost so many - can’t you see how this is hurting us? Mother, why?”_

Mother had refused to answer Raphael, refused to even acknowledge his questions.

Then he’d turned his back on Her.

As Raphael turned, flames began to lick at his robes. Raphael had glanced back over his shoulder towards Aziraphale, then allowed himself to fall. He didn’t fight it as others had, he just let go.

She had cast him out in a fit of fury, just as She had their brother, Lucifer, and Beelzebub: Gabriel’s heart, his other half.

The loss of so many dear to them had caused Michael to crumble, betrayal and grief weighing her down. Uriel had fallen into Gabriel’s arms; he had steeled his features and held her in his embrace.

Then he’d heard Aziraphale’s deep, keening wail. Michael had stumbled towards him, holding the Principality as he tried to break away from her. Likely to try and follow Raphael’s plummet downward.

It was in that moment that Gabriel resolved he wouldn’t fail Her as the others had. Once, he had questioned as much as Lucifer and Raphael, but never again.

He had lost so much in the First Great War: his brothers, his bondmate and his innocence. The day had changed him. Since that day, he had worked hard to achieve righteous victory over those who had failed _Her_.

Gabriel shoved his desk, sending it flying against the room. Then, an idea struck him. If it had worked then, perhaps it would work now?

That idiotic Principality; he’d been a whimpering mess when Raphael had fallen. He’d begged God to allow him to Fall, to allow him to forget, anything to make the pain stop. He had understood, of course he had; the pain of losing your other half was horrific.

Gabriel had taken pity on him. They’d been close once, Raphael and Gabriel. Brothers in action as well as in name. They had built galaxies together. When they were finished, the Archangels had returned to Heaven where new angels and tasks awaited them.

Raphael had been assigned to become a healer. Endlessly creative, he had written books upon books worth of healing spells to use for occasions where miracles were insufficient. In one instance, Raphael had shown him a particularly interesting new incantation that would aid angels whose hearts were fractured from loss; particularly the loss of their other half. It would allow them to heal, to forget, to numb the pain they were experiencing. It would excise the memory of their love. Raphael said it was meant to be a kindness, but one he was unsure if he would ever be willing to use.

Gabriel wasn’t weak like his fallen brother. He would use the charm and the Principality would be healed. Good as new, except better. None of those pesky feelings to deal with. 

Gabriel envied him.

He had taken Aziraphale into Raphael’s old office and performed the spell he’d reluctantly agreed to. The Principality had fallen asleep and when he awoke, he was blissfully unaware of the Angel he’d once loved.

Aziraphale was to be placed at the Eastern Gate of Eden. God Herself had assigned him. His failure had surprised everyone, but God was forgiving. Usually. She allowed him the privilege of guiding humanity—to aid them, to comfort them. He’d won many souls for their side. More than that, the Principality had seemed content in his station, happy to live on Earth away from the heavenly hosts.

Now he knew why: Aziraphale had found Raphael and had been living it up. Millennia of lies, indulging in conduct unbefitting an angel.

Pulling his thoughts away from his memories, Gabriel began to plan. He would get his revenge quite easily. Then, set a new plan in motion for their final battle. Without having to worry about Raphael or Aziraphale fucking it up. _Again._

On a piece of thick, stark-white stationary, he wrote: _Meet me in London near Green Park Station in one hour._ Then he folded the paper carefully, drew reverently a symbol with his fingertip atop the note. It burst into flame, the symbol lingering momentarily, before the note disappeared altogether.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit. If you aren't interesting in this type of thing, I would stop reading at "Is this alright, dearest."
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Anal sex

The moment Crowley had been dreading for eleven years had come and gone. 

They had somehow survived both the apocalypse and their failed execution. Crowley couldn’t help but wonder how his siblings--the Archangels in all their glory, and the Prince and Dukes of Hell--had been stupid enough to believe they’d go down easily. Regardless of why, they had easily fallen for their ruse. Perhaps they would believe it was a bit of divine intervention. As if Mother would have cared enough to step in. 

He was content for the first time in so long. 

The way Aziraphale was looking at him, openly and unabashed, made his heart soar. Since the moment their eyes had met all those years ago, Crowley had been lost to them.

Aziraphale had been a part of him for so long he truly couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love him. Before he Fell, he had been tasked with healing and was to help take care of the first humans. He was to be stationed within the walls of Eden to tend to them, to help them grow and flourish. 

Aziraphale was to be his aide, to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden and all the things inside. As a Principality, he had been made to protect and guide them. Aziraphale had always been enthralled by humanity, even before they were created. It was no surprise then, that he had done so well on Earth, that Aziraphale had embraced humanity so completely. He’d loved his role more than the other angels could comprehend. 

If the failed apocalypse had shown them anything, it was that Aziraphale was very good at his job: he’d saved the whole of humanity from their imminent destruction. 

And what had he gotten for it? A trip straight into hellfire. 

Crowley was becoming agitated, irritation and anger simmering in his veins from the injustice of it all. They had done what nobody else would: stood up and refused to follow the Great Plan. To question what their divine Lord was said to have written. 

He was roused from his train of thought by a warm hand being placed over his own. Blinking, he realized he had drifted into memories and away from the angel sitting across the table at the Ritz. He swallowed hard, shyly meeting Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Perhaps, my dear, we should go home?”

Crowley nodded, standing and placing his arm in the crook of Aziraphale’s as they walked out to the Bentley. 

Too caught up over the events of the previous week and in each other, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale noticed two figures lurking in the shadows, watching them intently. 

“You sure this will work? If this was one of Raphael’s old enchantments, what makes you think it would work on him or blondie?” The shadow paused, crossing their arms. “Even if you could, how are we going to take them? It’s just us,” they buzzed from their spot against the dirty brick alley wall. 

The taller figure sighed, “It worked on Aziraphale for 6000 years, he never seemed to notice his memories were even gone.”

“I see your point” they buzzed, “and if he finds out?”

“He won’t. Once they’re both under control, we can drop yours on the other side of the world. They aren’t bright enough to figure this out.”

During the ride back to the shop, Aziraphale’s hand never left Crowley’s.

Crowley swallowed as he pulled into his normal parking spot outside the bookshop. He hadn’t wanted the drive to end. 

He turned the car off, unsure of what to do next. He glanced over at the angel, and Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. Crowley had thought his heart couldn’t melt any further. 

Eventually, Aziraphale let go of his hand and got out of the car. Crowley’s heart sank. He had pondered during their ride home what Aziraphale meant by holding his hand. Now he had his answer. Perhaps he had done it out of comfort, or of friendship. He took a breath and stared down at the hand Aziraphale had just been holding.

Crowley sat unmoving in the driver’s seat of his Bentley, willing himself not to show emotion. 

**_ Tap, Tap, Tap. _ **

He jumped, wincing, startled and a little embarrassed. He rolled down the window.

Aziraphale was standing outside the driver’s side door with an exasperated look on his face and an eyebrow raised. “Aren’t you coming in?”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut when words failed him. He nodded instead, opening the door and stepping out into the cool evening air, then followed Aziraphale into the shop.

Crowley paused for a moment to glance up at the building that had been burned to the ground only hours earlier. He could still see the flames licking at the ancient wood. He shook the thought from his mind and entered behind Aziraphale. 

The two figures lingered in the shadows across the street. 

“Let me do it, I know just the place,” the shorter figure buzzed. 

The other figured sighed. “As far away as you can manage. We don’t want Aziraphale -”

The shorter one cut him off. “Yes, Yes, I  _ know _ , Gabriel. If you recall, I’m not a complete idiot. We’ll meet back here before dawn.”

“Of course, until then.” 

“Gabriel?” they asked softly, causing the angel to turn around, hope blooming in him at their tone. “Don’t fuck this up, alright?”

A hollow expression crossed his features in the darkened alley. “Of course not, I’ll see you at dawn.” He disappeared into the night. 

An angel and a demon were lounging on an old sofa in the back room of a very much intact bookshop on their second bottle of champagne, giddy from the Dom Pérignon and their surprising victory. 

Aziraphale set his glass down and stood up from the sofa with a determined expression. 

Crowley glanced up, noticing that Aziraphale towering over him.

He was standing stiffly, twisting his gold ring on his finger. “Your glasses... take them off?” He paused, searching Crowley’s face for any signs of rejection, “Please, dear?”

Crowley hesitated, reached up and gingerly took off the dark frames; his golden eyes met the angel’s hazel. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly down at the demon before falling softly to his knees before him. 

A slightly panicked look crossed the demon’s features. “Aziraphale?” 

The demon sat unmoving; his mouth slightly agape. The times he had imagined Aziraphale before him like this were too numerous to count; he would think he was dreaming if it wasn’t for the warmth radiating off the being in front of him. 

“My dear.” The angel took Crowley’s hands in his own, fingers tucked softly under shaking palms

“You are so wonderful.” A kiss placed on his knuckles, before gracefully turning Crowley’s hands over. Crowley thought he couldn’t feel more naked standing on the high street in his skivvies.

“You are so nice…”

Crowley scoffed.

“... to me.”

“So, kind.” Another to his palms.

“You are so very brave, always running headfirst into danger to save me.” 

Crowley opened his mouth to speak but was silenced with one pointed glance from the angel.

“You are generous,” murmured Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale carefully slid Crowley’s sleeve up to expose skin, vein pulsing under the skin, “...and mischievous.” Aziraphale kissed the freckle on the inside of his wrist.

Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s hand, making eye contact with him as he did, sighing, “And I love you so dearly,” as he placed a kiss on his fingers. 

“I’ve always so admired your hands. Lovely, elegant fingers, with a strength in them, belied by their gentleness. So soft, warm.” He turned the hand over in his, allowing their palms to meet. “And these lovely freckles you have. Were you aware, humans call them angel kisses?” He rubbed his thumb over the top of his hand. “How I’ve longed to do just that.”

Crowley made a strangled sound; his golden eyes were wide, pupils blown. 

“Is this alright, dearest?”

“Of course,” he croaked. 

Aziraphale beamed, then leaned up to capture his mouth with his own. 

It was awkward at first, the angle wrong, teeth bumping, noses in the way, both unsure. 

It had been so long since he’d had Aziraphale this close, it felt so familiar but so foreign at the same time. Crowley wasn’t even sure if the angel remembered. Surely if he had, he would have said. 

Crowley couldn’t be bothered to care, and when Aziraphale pressed his tongue along the seam of his mouth, the angel tasted of fine wine and a hint of cinnamon from dessert. 

Crowley allowed his hands to drift into Aziraphale’s soft curls, feeling buoyed up by some force outside him, buried memories returning. Aziraphale’s warmth, his softness, and his angelic aura threatened to overwhelm. It had been so long since he’d allowed anyone to come this close to him. He wanted to weep with the agonizing pleasure of Aziraphale kissing him, touching him once more. 

Desperate kisses melted into languid touches, and, carried on waves of long-suppressed desire, Aziraphale found his way to Crowley’s lap, pressing gentle kisses to his mouth.

Aziraphale pulled away, resting his forehead against Crowley’s, whispering “Would you… that is to say, my dearest, ah--come to bed with me?” 

Crowley’s eyes widened and he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, “I…” He paused and licked his lips. “All you had to do was ask.” 

Aziraphale was looking at him, full of feeling. With love, he realized. He wanted to remember that moment for the rest of his life. If they never kissed again, if he never had the angel in his arms again, he would memorize it, would freeze time forever to stay in this moment. 

Aziraphale smiled softly, slid off Crowley, took his hand and led him to the bedroom at the top of the stairs. 

The bedroom was a deep blue, with cream bedding and oak furniture. A large, overfull bookshelf stood against the wall, a stack of books rested atop the bedside table, with a few piled haphazardly on a chair in the corner and all of it smelled faintly of Aziraphale. Dust, cologne, and a hint of ozone that reminded him of heaven.

Aziraphale stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. This was the first time Crowley had been in his bedroom since it was empty and newly occupied, shelves yet barren of books. They rarely made it into his living quarters together, and he was nervous to see the demon’s reaction. Cluttered and old-fashioned, It was nothing like Crowley’s sleek, modern flat in Mayfair. 

Aziraphale wanted to take his time; he’d waited for so long. He couldn’t remember the first time he noticed Crowley in _ that  _ way, but it had been long enough to have built up quite a number of fantasies. But it was more than that. He wanted to bathe in the demon’s aura, to soak him in and learn every inch of him, corporeal and otherwise. 

He wanted to feel Crowley’s love the same way he so desperately wanted the demon to feel his own. He longed to soothe the aches within the demon’s heart and to fill its cracks with his love. There had been so many times when he could sense the longing emptiness within his dearest friend, and now that he could, Aziraphale hoped he would be enough. 

Crowley was only a bit taller than him, but he could use that to his advantage. He stepped in front of the demon, noticing that Crowley once again had a look of uncertainty about him. He looked nervous, remote. His yellow eyes were wide, looking over Aziraphale’s shoulder instead of his face. Crowley felt stiff beneath his touch. Aziraphale met his eyes and smiled, allowing his love to shine freely out of him, no longer masked by fear. “There you are, my dear.”

Aziraphale placed his hands on the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down into another kiss. He tugged at the silver scarf around Crowley’s neck, unlacing it, then letting it slide through his fingers to pool at the foot of the bed.

When he pulled away, he took a moment to appreciate the demon’s swollen lips, red from his attentions. The sight filled Aziraphale. He turned his care back to the issue at hand. “Is this alright?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrows as he slid his hands under Crowley’s jacket, fingertips barely catching on the soft cotton shirt underneath.

Crowley nodded silently, his hands resting on the angel’s shoulders.

The jacket was the first to go. Aziraphale took his time to ease Crowley out of it, rubbing soft circles over chest and shoulders as he worked the offending item off his arms. 

The angel kissed the underside of his neck and nuzzled the freckle under his ear, kissing it for good measure.

Crowley chuckled warmly, “Don’t go giving me any more freckles, Angel.”

“Mm, perhaps there is truth in the saying, after all, I can’t seem to help myself. You, my dearest, are simply divine. If I have my way, you will be entirely freckled,” Aziraphale said, kissing the spot once more for good measure.

Crowley nodded, speechless. He longed to tell Aziraphale how much he’d missed him, how much he wanted this, but he felt too much. He had the one thing he had wanted most for six-thousand years within his grasp and...There was simply too much he was feeling, too much for him to express. Now, here he was with Aziraphale in his arms, at a loss for what to do. 

Crowley had never been one to deny the angel. Regardless of the outcome, he would willingly take whatever Aziraphale would give him. 

His decision made, Crowley grinned and allowed himself the pleasure of touching Aziraphale as a lover for the first time in six thousand years. Crowley reached out to Aziraphale. With one hand he buried his fingers in soft white curls and the with the other ran his thumb over the peaks of pinked cheekbones.

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut, hands bunched in the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. Crowley laughed, his joy bubbling out of him as he traced the angel’s familiar features. Satisfied with his exploration, Crowley pulled the angel flush against him. Bodies pressed hard against each other, Crowley’s hand still immersed in Aziraphale’s white-blonde hair and the other firm against his waist.

He pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s, kissing him deeply, drinking him in, falling into the kiss. Seconds bled into minutes, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the angel’s presence. Crowley sighed against his mouth. “I love you.”

The angel nodded, letting out a breathy “I know dear,” and ran a well-manicured hand down the middle of Crowley’s chest. “You have always taken such good care of me, let me take care of you now.” Aziraphale’s hands grasped the hem of the shirt Crowley was wearing. “Let’s take this off.”

Crowley nodded, lifting his arms as Aziraphale tugged the shirt off over his head.

Aziraphale delicately ran his fingertips down Crowley’s sides, allowing his nails to lightly scratch the sensitive skin there, earning a shiver. Aziraphale watched in fascination as the cool air caused goosebumps to appear on the demon’s pale flesh.

Crowley shifted, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but Aziraphale continued unfazed, taking his time tracing patterns across Crowley’s chest, memorizing even the smallest freckle. Crowley’s patience was wearing thin. With each gentle touch, the ache between his thighs grew.

Aziraphale found his lips once more. Crowley gasped against Aziraphale’s mouth, surprised when he felt the back of his knees hit the plush bed, more surprised when he was pushed onto his back.

Aziraphale watched him with smug satisfaction, licking his lips in a way that keenly reminded Crowley of his expression when dessert was placed in front of him. Crowley’s eyes widened, his pale skin flushing under his gaze while waiting for the angel to move.

Finally, Aziraphale said, hushed, “I have longed to have you right here.”

Leaning forward, knee resting on the bed between Crowley’s thighs, Aziraphale continued his feather-like brushes of fingertips across the Crowley’s bare chest.

He reverently mapped out his lover’s form as if in a trance - the angles of the torso, the curve of a collarbone, the dip where rib yielded to waist, with eyes unfocused, dazed. An almost memory drifted through his mind. This was so familiar. Something inside of him was aching to break free and Aziraphale paused in his exploration as he felt it shifting. He almost,  _ almost _ had it.

Crowley began to wiggle impatiently. Aziraphale blinked, the memory vanishing as if an afterimage, before leaning further in to kiss him. His eyes fluttered closed, lost in Crowley’s embrace. He pulled away just enough to brush his nose against Crowley’s cheek. With a hushed sigh, he finally revealed the truth he’d been hiding for so long. “I love you too, Crowley.”

“Oh, Aziraphale,” whispered Crowley. He reached out, cupping his face, trying to take in the solid realness of him beneath his hands, Aziraphale’s hips pressing him into the mattress. He hadn’t even noticed that the angel had climbed atop him, his heat seeping into him, grounding him.

Crowley shifted again, uncomfortably aroused at the breaking of the barrier that had stood between them so long. Breathing fast, thoughts scattered, wanting, needing, he ached to feel every inch, every beat of the angel’s heart against his chest. “Angel,” he whined, gasping as he felt Aziraphale’s clever tongue teasing against his clavicle.

“Azira… you… I need -” he groaned. Crowley needed him. He’d missed Aziraphale’s touch, had held the memory of it buried so deep within the fractured pieces of his heart that he was sure he’d never be whole again. If this were a dream, he’d rather die than wake up. Aziraphale’s touches were igniting a long-extinguished flame. He could feel the aching tendrils of their broken bond reaching out to be mended.

“All in good time, my love.” Aziraphale bent to kiss a spot over his almost-human heart, working his way lower, until his tongue scraped over a sensitive nipple, teasing it with his teeth.

His soft hands began to undo the snake-embossed belt buckle, tugging it off. Aziraphale heard it clatter to the floor somewhere behind him. He kissed his way down Crowley’s chest, taking time to nibble any spot that looked especially delicious. Aziraphale found that he couldn’t resist his hipbone, sharp against the dip of his belly, stopping at his hips and nipping at the taut skin before making his way back up his chest. Crowley was such a delightfully responsive creature; the way his voice would catch as he mapped his torso with kisses made Aziraphale preen with lustful pride.

Crowley’s breathing was labored, his heart was racing, he ached to pull Aziraphale close to him again, to crush him against his mouth and distract himself until he had control of himself and didn’t feel as if he would finish the moment the angel’s hands touched him.

Aziraphale paused. “Still alright, dearest?”

The demon managed a nod, hissing out a “Yes,”

“Then let’s get a wiggle on, shall we?”

Crowley groaned in embarrassment, pressing his face against his arm.

Aziraphale deftly unzipped and tugged his trousers down until Crowley’s erection sprang free of its tight confines. “Honestly, dear, I don’t know how you wear these without having to miracle them on.”

Crowley drew a ragged breath as he uncovered his face, “And who…” he whined, “...says that’s not exactly what I do?” 

“I saw your closet last night dearest. I was quite bored. Your bookshelf leaves somewhat to be desired, and you were sound asleep. All of your trousers were neatly folded and at least two sizes too small.”

“Oh, fine, but they...” Crowley’s brain stuttered to a halt as the angel gently blew cool air over the tip of his aching cock. Crowley gasped, hands moving to grasp at the duvet beneath him. His knuckles went white, clenching against the fabric as Aziraphale put his mouth on his prick. He groaned loudly as Aziraphale’s tongue teased the sensitive head, eagerly laving up the precum collecting there, his fingers softly running up the length of him, teasing the hot flesh with light touches. 

Between Aziraphale’s clever hands and that delightful tongue of his, it was unlikely Crowley would last very long. “Aziraphale, slow down. I’m going to…” He drew a ragged breath as the angel swallowed him down, causing Crowley to gasp and moan, his hips bucking up of their own accord, his fingers threading tightly into his curls.

Aziraphale flicked his tongue along the head of his cock, hands gripping his thighs as he moved his attention to the sensitive notch on the underside before wrapping one hand around the base of him, the other pressing his hips flat to the mattress. 

Crowley tried to hold it together, slow his breathing, and stop the involuntary jerk of his hips. He had waited millennia for this moment, had hoped to hold out longer but felt his resolve crumbling as the angel’s lips wrapped around him, teeth grazing lightly with each bob of his head. Crowley could feel the force of his orgasm approaching, unable to stop it from overwhelming him. With each swipe of Aziraphale’s slick tongue, he grew closer to the precipice. Then, he was  _ falling, falling, falling _ . Darkness flashed behind his closed-tight eyes and pleasure washed over him as he spent himself in the angel’s hot, wicked mouth. He shook with the aftershocks of his orgasm, oversensitive and overcome by the sensations Aziraphale had stirred in him, collapsing boneless against the pillows.

Aziraphale sat up, propped up on one elbow, far too pleased with himself. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s sweat-damp hair as he tried to catch his breath. “You did so well for me, dearest. Breathe,” he soothed. “Crowley?”

He glanced up, chest still heaving and met Aziraphale’s eyes.

“There you are.” He smiled. 

Crowley swallowed and nodded. 

“Now, my dear. This is very important; how would you feel about penetration? Of course, we’ll take it slow, but I’d love nothing more than to be inside you as soon as you’re ready. You look like you might need a moment.” 

Crowley blinked at him, anticipation pooling in his abdomen, then nodded. “I haven’t… not in a long while.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright.” He briefly wondered who it had been, then pushed the thought from his mind, ignoring the jealousy threatening to rise in his throat. Crowley looked so vulnerable lying there, spent, breathing raggedly, eyes wide open in a way Aziraphale couldn’t recall seeing before. 

“Angel, you should know you can have me however you want me.” And there it was, Crowley would give Aziraphale anything he wanted or needed. He need only ask.

Aziraphale nodded, reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair from the demon’s face. “How are you feeling? While I’d love nothing more than to have my wicked way with you, perhaps you need a bit more time? To recover?”

The demon shook his head, unwilling to waste any time he had with the angel, he knew he’d likely be overwhelmed once more but Crowley couldn’t be bothered to care. “I want you any way you’ll have me,” he said honestly.

Aziraphale beamed, then crawled up over him, settling himself in Crowley’s lap and pressing his lips to Crowley’s, their tongues entwining once more, allowing him to taste his spend on the angel’s tongue, sending sparks of pleasure straight to his cock. Aziraphale’s kisses were sweet but passionate. Firm, unyielding. He kissed as he lived, and Crowley was lost to it.

Aziraphale kept the kisses leisurely, allowing Crowley time to become ready once more. Aziraphale had taken lovers before; he was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh and had been shocked by the demon’s admission that he was more inexperienced than he’d imagined. The way he was reacting made him wonder how long it had been, if Crowley had ever been touched in such a way. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t leave this bed until Crowley had been thoroughly sated, wouldn’t leave without knowing he was loved. Aziraphale would know every inch of his beloved’s body.

Aziraphale had lost his jacket somewhere. His shirt hung open and Crowley’s hands were pressed to his chest, hot on Aziraphale’s skin even through his vest. His bowtie was missing, and the button of his trousers was undone.

Time slowed between them as they explored each other. Touching and caressing, whispering and moaning their love to one another.

Finally, nothing came between them. Their bodies were pressed against the other, Aziraphale a comforting weight on top of him.

“I always knew you’d be perfect like this,” Aziraphale whispered as he took his time marking Crowley’s neck.

“Then what took you so long, Angel?”

Aziraphale gasped in pleasure “Because—I was scared. I don’t think I could handle it if I lost you, Crowley.”

“I know the feeling,” he whispered sadly. “Please be more careful Aziraphale. Please, I’ve lost you too many times already. I don’t think I could survive it again.”

Aziraphale pulled back, sensing there was something more he was referencing than his discorporation the day prior, he searched his sharp features of a hint of what he was referring to. “Crowley?”

“Not tonight. One day soon but not tonight.” His eyes pleaded with Aziraphale to drop it. Crowley refused to think about their past, not now. He loved Aziraphale so completely, but the angel had hurt him so many times, turned him away so many times that he would leave again come morning. Crowley had always returned. He’d known about the human lovers, each passing fling another wound to his already fractured soul. Losing Aziraphale after his fall had almost destroyed him. Each time he or Aziraphale had been discorporated, Crowley was certain he would never see Aziraphale again, certain his lonely, unending existence would overcome him, that without the angel’s light, the darkness would consume him.

Aziraphale nodded, he’d seen the flash of pain in his eyes. Aziraphale swallowed down his guilt with a sympathetic sigh. 

“Angel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“I love you too, you know?”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to catch up.”

“Aziraphale, angel…” He paused. No, he resolved. Not tonight. He shook his head, “You’re here now, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Aziraphale bent to kiss him once more, He smiled against his lips, muttering, “I bet you can do lovely things with that tongue of yours.”

He chuckled warmly. “Yeah, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“I look forward to it,” he said, leaning to kiss him.

Aziraphale needed to hurry this along. He usually hoarded patience like books, but his forbearance was quickly running out. His cock was making its presence known and he aching for relief.

“Are you ready?”

Crowley nodded, his cock had become improbably hard again and was leaking precome.

“I didn’t mention it earlier, dearest” Aziraphale licked his lips in anticipation at the sight before him. “But you do have such a pretty cock. Just the perfect size, so responsive in my hands…” A breath, “…and wonderfully delectable in my mouth. Perfect really.”

The angel hummed and laughed at Crowley’s dropped jaw and comically raised eyebrows. 

He bent to kiss him, Crowley’s tongue firm and unyielding as it pressed against the seam of his mouth. Aziraphale pulled away, grinning. “It makes me wonder what it would feel like to have that tongue of yours wrapped around my cock, or perhaps you would prefer to put it to use elsewhere?”

Crowley flushed at that, his voice came out rough, deep and lust-filled, “As I said, I suppose you’ll just have to find out.”

Aziraphale nodded, “I know this is something we both want, but it’s about you as much as me, Crowley. Promise me, if this is too much, if you need me to slow down, you will tell me.”

Crowley nodded, unable to focus with Aziraphale so close and yet not nearly close enough.

“I need to hear you say it, dearest.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, Aziraphale. Please.” He writhed, trying to get friction against his cock, desperate for some type of relief.

Aziraphale sat back, reached over and dug around in the drawer beside his bed, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid. “Humans have made this much easier. Lubricant! What a delightful invention. We’re going to take this slow, dear, I want this to feel good, you deserve to feel good. To feel loved, I want to give you that.”

He squeezed a small puddle of lube into his palm and coated two of his neatly manicured fingers before settling back on the bed between Crowley’s thighs. “Lift up a bit, love.”

“It’s so lovely you are allowing me to do this.” Crowley shifted to give access to Aziraphale, and the angel stroked Crowley’s hole gently, in soft circles, teasing him open, before pressing his index finger into him. 

Crowley gasped, “Fuck, Angel!”

“Breathe with me, love,” Aziraphale murmured, and “that’s it,” and “oh, you’re so good for me,” as he worked deeper. Aziraphale’s finger sought out his prostate, stroking the sensitive spot and earning a loud groan from the desperate demon. He began to move his finger deeper to allow Crowley to get used to the sensation, then he added more lubricant, letting it slide down his palm onto his finger, before slipping a second finger inside him. Spreading them slightly to stretch him, he took care to make sure Crowley was more than ready for him.

Crowley was whimpering, writhing beneath him. He was nearly gone, muttering incoherently, then Aziraphale added a third finger, Crowley groaned, loudly. “Please Aziraphale, I don’t care. I just want to feel all of you.”

The angel smiled, continuing his ministrations, enjoying the look of pleasured anguish on his demon’s face. He had flushed prettily, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took.

He was getting close, another wave of pleasure about to crash through him when Aziraphale slid his fingers out.

He whined so handsomely, Aziraphale thought, chuckling.

“Bastard.” He had been so close to the edge, ready to descend into oblivion once more when Aziraphale pulled away.

“Mm. But I’m  _ your  _ bastard. I thought you’d prefer to come around my cock, dearest.”

“Well…” he whined, arching his back as he tried to find relief and gaining none “...get on with it already.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Don’t have all night.” 

Crowley watched hungrily as he generously coated his cock with the liquid. Aziraphale stroked himself a few times, reveling in the slick heat. Crowley wiggled again, and Aziraphale noticed. “Eager, are we?”

Crowley nodded sharply; his lust-heavy gaze focused entirely on the motions of the angel’s hand. Aziraphale had a nice cock, Crowley thought. Long and a bit thick, enough to hold in your hand without being too much. The tip was leaking heavily, and Crowley longed for a taste. He wanted to touch and taste and spend hours learning each vein, each inch of the angel’s pretty cock. Sometime soon he planned to spend quite a while paying it all the attention it deserved.

Aziraphale could feel it, waves of emotion rolling off Crowley. Love, so much of it he couldn’t fathom how he’d missed it before. Touching him, kissing him, tasting him—Aziraphale wanted to weep in joy, to embrace this beautiful creature before him and never let him out of his grasp. 

Crowley saw several emotions flicker across Aziraphale’s expressive face, their gaze met and he ducked, the raw sentiment he’d found there threatened to overwhelm him. The demon allowed himself to be maneuvered into a more comfortable position and watched hungrily as Aziraphale pressed their bodies together, trapping Crowley’s cock between them. He felt a sudden, wild urge to rock his hips into their shared heat, but Aziraphale’s voice cut into his thoughts. 

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Aziraphale said primly.

Crowley nodded, a hysterical laugh bubbling just below the surface, but instead pulled Aziraphale closer and kissed him.

Aziraphale took himself in hand, guiding himself inside of the demon.

Inch by inch, slowly sinking in until he was fully seated within Crowley, Aziraphale tilted up Crowley’s hips, pulling a gasp from both their lips. Aziraphale was overwhelmed by how good it felt, his fingers dug into Crowley’s sharp hips as he rocked into him. “So good for me, so ah! So perfect, so ni..”

“Aziraphale, if you don’t move already, I’m going to…” 

He replied with a sharp moan, sliding out of him painfully slow before thrusting back into him, each roll of his hips brought them closer to blissful oblivion. 

Crowley was breathless, panting hard—Aziraphale grasped him, drawing him awkwardly into a kiss, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming into him once more.

Crowley’s fingers tightened around Aziraphale’s back, holding him tight in his grasp while the angel fucked him mercilessly.

The sensation was glorious. Aziraphale’s fingers had been wonderful but now that his lovely cock was buried within him, Crowley couldn’t think of a single better way to spend eternity. Sex, human sex, pleasure, making love. This was something he had never experienced, never hoped to have and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever.

The delicious, slick friction was pushing Crowley closer to the edge, Aziraphale’s mouth was once again pressed against his own, giving little nips to his lower lip in between sweet kisses. His nails were digging into Aziraphale’s ass, encouraging him with each deep thrust. 

Aziraphale groaned, pushing his face into Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh love, you feel so wonderful.”

Crowley was getting close, so very close. He needed just a bit more to fall over the edge. He was whimpering and ready to snap.

The angel reached in between them and began to stroke him in rhythm with his thrusts, his hand tight around Crowley’s cock.

It was so much, so much - too much and the pleasure washing over him, flooding him with sensation, finally crested over. He shut his eyes tight, allowing the orgasm to take him. He was falling, only this time in the strong arms of his lover, his angel.

Crowley came, hard. Spending himself into the angel’s hand, covering their stomachs with his spend.

Aziraphale pulled him tight against him, searching for Crowley’s mouth as he pushed himself deeper, wanting to be as close as he possibly could. His lover clenching around him, he stuttered out his lover’s name and cried out before spilling himself into Crowley. 

They lay like that for a while, kissing and caressing the other. With one last deep kiss, Aziraphale removed himself from within Crowley. He waved a hand and their mess was gone. Aziraphale maneuvered the blankets around him, tucking the worn sheets and duvet around Crowley before settling behind him. 

“Crowley? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

He chuckled sleepily, “Nah. Felt good.” He wiggled himself comfortable in Aziraphale’s embrace.

They were sated. Warm, and content in each other’s arms. Nothing could touch them anymore.

“Angel?” whispered Crowley.

“Hm?”

"Love you. I’m so glad I finally have you back,” he mumbled, pressing his face snugly into Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale looked at him strangely, hoping for more than his cryptic answer, but Crowley had already fallen asleep. It was the second time Crowley had mentioned “again.” To his knowledge, they had never been intimate. He couldn’t even recall a time when he’d held the demon’s hand (although he could recall several memorable occasions when their hands brushed one another—by accident, of course) but at the same time, there was a familiarity to their coupling, a tug in his gut telling him he’d been here before. He couldn’t remember Crowley in Heaven, nor did he recall an angel who would fit his description. Time before the Fall was fuzzy at best for him. Aziraphale sighed. He would ask him in the morning. 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley closer, snuggling into him. “I love you too, my dearest, pleasant dreams.” He kissed his neck and allowed himself the pleasure of a well-deserved post-coital nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter would not be possible without my beta's, thank you for suffering through my embarrassment of writing this and helping me whip it into shape. Y'all rock <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Morning sex, wake up sex. 
> 
> The last two sentences of this chapter are important, so if you need to skip the sex, skip ahead there.

When Aziraphale woke the next morning, the sun shone brightly through the curtains. Aziraphale felt warm, safely cocooned in his demon’s embrace. Gloriously happy, perfectly and utterly content.

The world hadn’t ended, and Crowley was here, in his bed, curled against him, sleeping peacefully, a soft smile gracing his handsome features.

Thanks to Adam, Aziraphale still had his bookshop, his home, and his livelihood. It was more than that though. It was the place that Crowley had helped to build just as much as he had. Gifts throughout the years, books and knickknacks, bottles of wine that Aziraphale stored in the cellar, the small garden he’d cultivated behind the shop. Aziraphale knew he loved the place as much as he did - the shop was as much Crowley’s home as it was his. 

Aziraphale had often thought about the pull Crowley had on him. At the beginning of their time on Earth, he’d rarely seen the demon, but as humanity grew, so did their encounters.

With each meeting, each parting, Aziraphale was left with a strange emptiness in his chest. He’d always credited it to the loneliness he felt in a world ruled by death; never aging, outliving anyone he became close to. He’d outlived lovers, friends. Humans who had become so dear to him, but he’d been unable to hold on to. Where humans were a candle flame in the wind, Crowley was his eternal sun. Then, when he purchased his shop, he filled it with things that anchored him. Works created by people he’d loved tapestries and paintings, letters and sketches. Books that he’d discussed with his dear humans, and - each one a surprise - treasures given to him by the demon. It became theirs, their meeting place, a safe space within a cruel world.

He rolled over, allowing himself to gaze at the demon sleeping beside him. His whole world and he’d come so close to losing him yesterday—picturing Crowley dying like that caused his chest to seize. Aziraphale felt tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision. He shook his head. No. He’d prevented that. Nobody would bother them again. They’d saved everyone - or, well, someone had. They’d won. They were safe -  _ of course _ they were. 

He pressed his face against Crowley’s neck, kissing his pulse point and doing his best to leave a lovely little mark there for the world to see. He liked marking him. He glowed with pride to know that Crowley would wear the mark for a few days. The demon growled in frustration, voice deep with lingering sleep, “Nnnggg...ziraphale, stop. Mm trying to sleep here.” He wiggled, attempting to snuggle with the angel.

Aziraphale pressed himself against Crowley, gently nibbling at his neck, moving his leg in just a manner to provide a bit of delicious friction to his cock. Crowley grunted and stirred just enough to tighten his arms around Aziraphale, maneuvering his body to lay atop Aziraphale. His body weight trapped the angel, pinning him to the bed, and he buried his nose in Aziraphale’s hair, wiggled a bit, then promptly let out a snore.

Aziraphale scoffed, and Crowley had called  _ him _ a bastard. 

He sighed and resigned himself to just one more hour of sleep. He and Crowley would have a nice lie-in and perhaps stop at the little diner up the street for some blueberry crepes when they were both awake.

Aziraphale held him tight in his embrace, pulling the blanket up and over him, allowing the gentle weight of his beloved to lull him back to sleep.

It felt so right having him here beside him, familiar, so seamless, it was as if they’d been made for one another. As Aziraphale eye’s closed, feeling a sense of utter peace that he’d never known before. 

The second time Aziraphale woke up that day, he realized two things: the first was that something felt quite nice, more than nice actually. The second was that Crowley’s fingers were in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp while he whispered sweet nothings in his ear—his hot breath ghosting across his neck, sending chills down his spine. 

“Good, you’re finally awake.” Said Crowley as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and began to nip lightly at his neck. 

Aziraphale’s sleep and lust-addled brain was making it difficult to speak. “Oh!” he gasped. He was likely to have a mark when Crowley was finished, “Cro—wley!” 

The demon lifted his head, “couldn’t get enough of you last night.” He grinned cockily. “Thought I might try something new.” He said as he kissed his way down Aziraphale’s soft chest. 

Aziraphale stuttered out a flustered, “ _ please _ ” as warmth engulfed his hardening cock. The angel instinctively reached for Crowley’s silky auburn hair, tugging the strands as the demon’s mouth and tongue did wicked things to his cock.

“Crowley!” he groaned, then whined as the demon pulled away to look at him, grinning, eyes shining with mischief.

“Morning,” he drawled, waggling his eyebrows at the angel. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at him, “I’ve never known you to start something then just leave it unfinished.”

Crowley’s hair was mussed from sleep and Aziraphale’s desperate fingers, and Aziraphale thought he’d never looked lovelier. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, a cocky grin stretched across wicked lips. “Oh? You mean this? Just a hobby really. Fairly new one at that.” He ran a long finger up the underside of Aziraphale’s cock, grin growing wider as the angel shivered.

“Crow-ley,” he whined, as a bead of precome dripped onto the sheets beneath him.

“Such a mess,” Crowley tutted with a smirk before leaning over to give him a good lick, his tongue trailing from root to tip before taking him in his mouth once again.

He’d been correct in his assessment of Crowley’s tongue; he really could do wicked things with it. Crowley’s hands were massaging his thighs and bollocks, teasing touches and firm pressure beneath his lovely fingertips. All the while, Crowley’s pretty mouth was stretched tight around him. 

Aziraphale’s fingers gripped Crowley’s hair as he grew closer to release, his hips had begun to thrust in time with the sliding of his mouth.

His heart was hammering in his chest and he was so very close to the precipice, just a little more…

Aziraphale glanced down to see Crowley taking him deep in his mouth. Watching Crowley take him so easily made him drunk with lust. His mouth went dry as he watched Crowley work him relentlessly, then suddenly his orgasm washed over him. “Cro—wley” he shouted as he spilled into the demon’s throat, Crowley’s fingernails imprinting in his thighs, his vision blurring. He clamped his eyes shut, overwhelmed with love for Crowley. 

As Aziraphale came down from the high, he cracked an eye open. His body was still throbbing with pleasure from the remnants of his orgasm. He ran a shaking hand through his blond curls. “Good morning, dearest.” He said, taking a shaking breath, “I fear I’ve created a monster.”

Crowley had sat up from his spot between Aziraphale’s thighs and grinned. He winked at him and made a show of licking his lips. “Mm… demon. Next time go easier on the hair?” He said cheekily. 

He blushed, then cleared his throat. “That was quite a nice surprise.”

“Angel, what have I told you about the word  _ nice _ , hm?” he drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I woke up about 20 minutes ago and got bored waiting for you to wake up, seeing as you had all the fun last night…” He trailed off, slowly licking his lips flirtatiously.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by a strange nostalgia blooming in his chest, a memory, an ache for something his heart seemed to remember but his brain had forgotten, golden light pouring in through the windows reflected off Crowley’s pale skin and auburn hair…it reminded him of—something. He was stunning and deeply familiar in the early morning light. Aziraphale couldn’t help but grin up at him. He could almost picture him as an angel, with long flaming locks and eyes like molten gold. The vision was gone as soon as it came. “Quite,” said Aziraphale, shaken by his thoughts.

Urged on by Crowley’s earlier teasing, the angel sat up long enough to tug him down atop of him, fingers entwining, Crowley pinning him into the mattress as he began to press kisses to his skin. The demon’s mouth was flaming, a delicious wet heat that blazed trails of desire across Aziraphale’s chest and neck. 

Crowley was grinding against him, their cocks moving together in delicious friction, “Oh Angel,” he whispered between kisses.

Aziraphale had his arms tight around Crowley, nails digging into the soft flesh of his back.

Their kisses grew more frantic, heat rising between them, stifling them. Aziraphale had only just come but he was ready for more, aching to be joined with the being he loved once more. He was struck once again by the familiarity of the act, each slide of Crowley’s warmth against his own left him feeling hollow and wanting. There was something inside of him longing to pull Crowley close and to never let go. A tugging in his heart echoing,  _ he’s mine.  _

Crowley pulled back to watch him, he could scarcely believe Aziraphale was allowing them to be this close. He was in his arms; an eternity had passed since their last embrace. He wanted—needed them to be joined. “Can I? I want…”

Aziraphale chuckled warmly, “Of course, dearest. I’ve been imagining how wonderful it would feel to have you buried inside me for years now.” Years of keeping the demon at arm’s length, pretending he didn’t want to drag him into the nearest alley and have his wicked way with him left him with little else to do. 

Crowley licked his lips and swallowed hard; eyes wide. “Years?”

Aziraphale was rubbing circles into Crowley’s back, alternating between soft and firm touches. “Mm, the things I have imagined you doing to me. For example, do you know how many times I’ve come with the thought of your lovely hands around me? Or what it would feel like to have them stretching me open, lithe and long inside of me? To have them make me come? I have so much planned for you and those beautiful fingers of yours, my dearest.”

Crowley had frozen in place, his mouth slightly parted and pupils completely blown. “So…” he breathed, “…what—what would you have me do?”

Aziraphale reached up and rubbed a thumb over the demon’s cheekbone. “I just want you inside me, Crowley. I want to feel all of you.”

He nodded dumbly at the angel, leaning in for a slow kiss, running lithe fingers across the softness of Aziraphale’s ribs. He sat back for a moment, glancing about the room, then grabbed the small bottle from the nightstand triumphantly. He poured a good amount onto his finger, circling his tight hole, slowly easing the digit into the angel, causing him to whimper.

“Crow—ley,” he whined, “darling, please.” Another whimper, “ _ please _ … I’ll be fine, I want to feel you.”

“Are you…?” He was cut off with a kiss, Aziraphale had taken the bottle and squeezed enough in his hand to coat Crowley’s cock with the clear liquid.

This time, Crowley could feel all of Aziraphale. He let out a breathy moan as he slowly inched his way into Aziraphale. His hands gripped his plush hips as he moved into him. It was more than just two bodies searching for completion. They were joining in a way that was reminiscent of what it had been in Heaven; a mingling of their essence. He could feel Aziraphale’s tightness around him, the way he clenched when he hit that sensitive spot within him, the way his hand slid around the angel’s cock.  _ Oh _ , but more, so much more. The angel overwhelmed him, Aziraphale’s scent and power. His love. He’d recognize the angel’s presence anywhere, had spent the last 6000 years seeking it out and now he was immersed in it. Drowning in the angel and barely clinging on to his sanity.

“ _Angel_ ,” he murmured as he tightened his grasp on the angel, kissing him deeply, bruising.

“Let go, love, I’ve got you,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear.

Crowley came with a sob above Aziraphale, the demon's fingers dug into his hips almost painfully. The heat of Crowley pulsing within him caused Aziraphale to tumble over the edge behind him.

Aziraphale pressed soft kisses to his eyelids, soothing him as he shook with his release.

Crowley’s arms wrapped around Aziraphale, winding around him and holding him tightly in his embrace. “Please don’t leave me, Angel.” 

“I won’t leave you, darling, I’m right here.”

Crowley whimpered lightly into Aziraphale’s neck as he snuggled into his softness. 

They’d held one another until Aziraphale’s stomach had gotten the best of him.

“We can just nip down the street to that lovely diner, perhaps take a walk afterward?” he said after they’d gotten dressed.

Crowley was tying his scarf. “Mm… anything you’d like, angel.”

“Oh, we should go to the theater! We could see  _ The Woman in Black _ !”

“Are you sure you’d even like it?” asked Crowley.

“Probably not,” he said, pulling on his coat.

“We could see  _ Cats _ ?”

Crowley laughed. “That was one of mine, I don’t think you would hate it but you would need to be awfully drunk.”

Aziraphale laced his fingers with Crowley’s. “Hm, what about  _ Phantom of the Opera _ ? I’ve heard it’s wonderful. We’ve been so busy the last few years we never did get around to seeing it,” he said as he picked up his keys from the table beside the door.

“The music’s not bad. It’s a good play. Webber is definitely one of ours though,” Crowley said opening the door.

“And here I thought we were on our own sides now?” Aziraphale said with a laugh, shutting and locking the shop door before setting off in the direction of the diner. 

Neither noticed the pair lurking in the alley beside the bookshop. The binding spell hit Crowley first, knocking him out before he had time to react.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted, noticing a pair of lavender eyes before he too was knocked unconscious, falling to the ground in a heap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra big shout out to Euny_Sloane for cheering me through the last two sections while editing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible Trigger Warning for forced amnesia.

The sun filtering in through the blinds felt wrong on his face, hotter, brighter somehow than what he was used to. Crowley felt disoriented, like he’d slept too long… like when he’d accidentally slept for nearly one-hundred years a while back. His mouth was dry and soured, his head felt impossibly fuzzy. He felt around, reaching out for Aziraphale. The bed was empty. The spot beside him was cool to the touch, the demon groaned, he must have gotten up sometime last night… or possibly last week. Surely, he didn’t sleep for _that_ long.

He knew Aziraphale didn’t sleep, he was probably poking around his flat. He had probably spoiled his plants by now, glowing curls bent to coo appreciatively at leaves with spots on them. Crowley heard a groan, startled to realize that the sound had come from him. The last week had done a number on him. He felt hazy, as if he was waking up from a dream.

His head was killing him. He must have used too much of his powers. It had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself to use so much of his reserves.

When he tried to think back to the week before, it felt blurred, disjointed. His memories were jumbled, as if someone had taken them out and then put them back but arranged them in the wrong order.

“Angel?” He attempted to open an eye against the violent light of his bedroom window as he picked his head up to glance around.

Why was he in his flat? But no… that was right. They’d come back here after the Ritz… didn’t they? His eyes felt heavy with sleep. He let his head fall back against the pillow, too much pain pounding in his skull to justify sitting up.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Crowley fell into unconsciousness once more.

The sun was setting as he opened his eyes for the second time that day. Something was off. He couldn’t place it.

He winced as he sat up, his skull still felt sore, bruised. He’d have to take it easy the next few days. “Aziraphale? Angel?”

He heard shuffling in the next room and the sound of a book being set down. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest, Aziraphale _was_ still here.

The warmth that had blossomed withered as his grin slid off his face. The footsteps were off, the wrong cadence for Aziraphale. Then he heard the buzzing; a familiar sound he’d only ever heard in the pits of Hell. He jumped out of bed, only then noticing he was fully dressed in his pajamas.

He moved too quickly, however, and he abruptly fell back, collapsing on the floor, head pounding once more. Another rush of nausea and pain bloomed behind his eyes.

A short figure appeared in the doorway; they shook their head. “Oh Crowley, I’d hoped Hastur was wrong.” Beelzebub sighed, holding their hands up in appeasement as they came closer to the bed.

He looked at the other demon suspiciously. Where was Aziraphale? He glanced around, where had they taken him?

“Don’t you remember? Have you truly forgotten?” they asked, surprising him with their gentleness, squatting down on their knees in front of him. Kindness coming from the Prince of Hell was uniquely unnerving. A chill ran down his spine, and he shivered despite the comfortable temperature in the room.

The demons had taken Aziraphale. Must have. Why else would Beelzebub be there when he and Aziraphale had ruined their scheme? “Forgotten what? What have you done with him? He was here last night.” He made to get up again, but the pounding in his head made him fall once more.

Bile churned in his gut as nausea settled over him.

Beelzebub sighed, rolling their eyes.

“You have your revenge on your brother, yet, you don’t seem to recall the reasoning why.” Beelzebub moved into his space, their nose nearly touching his own. “Strange. I can’t believe _you_ of all people would forget.” Was that pity in their eyes as they examined him? He shivered as their cold blue eyes searched his face. Why would the prince of hell pity him?

“My brother?”

“Yes,” they buzzed.

“It had nothing to do with Lucifer!” Crowley said, anger beginning to rise in his chest.

“Clearly revenge. You are a demon, after all.”

Crowley shook his head, fists balling at his side. “This is my home…” Another sharp pain streaking across his skull. “We stopped the world from ending, Aziraphale and I…” 

“Really?” they asked, a hint of a cruel grin curling at their lips.

“This had nothing to do with Lucifer, he is as bad as Mother,” Crowley spat.

“Do, go on.” They rolled their eyes.

Crowley glared icily at the Prince of Hell, “The Great Plan is a load of bollocks. Humans are…” a stab of pain lanced through his skull causing him to wince, “…wonderful, they don’t deserve to suffer because _Mother_ can’t keep her creations in line.”

“It is what we were made for, Crowley.” Buzzed Beelzebub. “We’re demons. Suffering, war. We fell for glory, not pacifism.”

He shook his head, “It really wasn’t. It’s what we became.”

“Nevertheless, you interfered where you had no right.”

“No right? This is our home. We saved it, prevented more bloodshed.”

Beelzebub shook their head. “This is _your_ home, yes. Are you sure you don’t still blame our Master Satan for his part in the great war? For what happened to your little pet?”

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, however, a pain rang through his skull before he could utter a word, a distant memory awakening: Aziraphale stumbling towards him, reaching for him, struggling to speak, crying, “ _Raphael,_ ” while ichor flowed from a wound in his side and another from his thigh. His own hands pressing desperately against the gaping hole, pale fingers grasping at his face, a frantic “ _I love you”_ from a dying angel, the weight of a flaming sword in his hands where his staff should have been. The golden blood of angels staining his skin. Then he was in the room again, Beelzebub looking at him curiously.

“What?” he croaked, shaking his head. What the hell was that?

They sighed... “I grow bored of this. Think, Crowley,” they insisted. _Insisted_ . “Think, _Raphael._ Remember.”

The floodgate opened. He screamed as he remembered. Painfully, every moment burst into life behind his skull as he relived it all.

The birth of the most beautiful angel he’d ever seen, his Principality, the one She’d made just for him. Watching in awe as the being took their first breath, their eyes blinking open and the feeling of warmth that washed over him when their eyes met.

_Aziraphale._

His life partner, her gift to him, his colleague, his friend, his confidant.

Teaching the new angel how to navigate what was expected of him, becoming his friend instead of just his mentor, realizing he so very much loved the one God had gifted him.

Their first tentative kiss, soft, new to both of them. A rush of warmth with each press of Aziraphale’s lips against his own.

Their first time joining together, their souls brushing, mixing. Two beings entwining with the other, binding themselves to the other for all of eternity.

Doubting the Almighty, he’d begun to believe what his brother Lucifer was saying. He’d hardly agreed with Lucifer about everything, but he made some compelling points. 

He remembered Aziraphale’s phantom voice begging him, pleading for him not to go with them, not to listen to the rebel angel. Telling him he was so much better, so much smarter than that, _“Please, Raphael! Just listen to me! They are planning something terrible. I’ve heard the most awful things.”_

And in the final confrontation, he’d watched in horror as Lucifer turned on Heaven, rebuking their mother, Her name, Her plan.

Then, the war.

Michael, so angry. He’d never seen her like that. Lucifer fell first, cut down with ease by Michael’s sword.

He keened, remembering his shock of seeing his best-loved brother plummet downward.

So much death, unable to save them all, golden blood flooding the streets, screams of the host as they fell.

So much dying.

He had struck down an angel who’d attacked from behind, one of Lucifer’s Principalities, blonde hair glinting as he fell. But Crowley had a friend… where was he?

Principalities, Principalities. _Oh Heaven, where was Aziraphale?_

He’d gone frantically searching for his beloved, recalled the wave of relief twisting into despair when he saw his angel stumbling towards him. He’d tried to make the bleeding stop, he was a healer, why couldn’t he heal this? His blood had been everywhere, gold staining his hands and robe in shining light. Knowing failure, he had dropped his staff, choosing instead to pull Aziraphale close as his sword slipped from his fingers.

_Aziraphale. God, no. Not him._

His beloved was dying, Aziraphale was dying. He couldn’t save him, the overwhelming grief, grasping for someone no longer within reach. He was in his arms but _God,_ he was gone from him. Why?

_Aziraphale._

Begging the Almighty for answers, pleading for his love back, anything for Aziraphale, please, God, please! Questioning her reasons, begging for relief from this pain, feeling instead, a new pain, this time burning, falling engulfed in flames.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling into darkness. 

Crowley jerked back into himself. The room was still spinning, his eyes still burning, but he was no longer seeing the brightness of Heaven or the darkness of Hell. Grey walls, sleek black sheets clenched in his fist, his heart pounding, his breathing rapid, and Beelzebub studying him with a strange, unreadable expression as he kneeled on the floor. 

He realized he was crying hot, human tears while Beelzebub stood over him, face impassive. 

Crowley watched cautiously as the other demon stood up and walked into his living room. He took a moment to take a deep steadying breath, and roughly brushed the tears from his cheeks. It made no difference. Numb with grief, he followed.

The flat felt different. He knew this was his home but at the same time, something felt off about the place. _Wrong._ On the table were books, some ancient, others more modern. He walked slowly towards the table laden with books; Aziraphale hoarded knowledge, he would have devoured those.

But that wasn’t right; No, Aziraphale was fine. He hadn’t died. He would have known; his angel owned a bookshop in Soho.

He grabbed his head again, bile rising in his throat.

Beelzebub shoved him onto the couch and handed him a white, leather-bound journal. The edges dog-eared, the leather worn soft from years of use.

He glanced up at them, swallowing before cracking open the familiar journal, to see page after page filled with sketches of Aziraphale’s eyes, his face, scribbles in his handwriting, drawings of things he remembered.

His head ached.

His fingers brushed a sketch of Warlock with Francis in the garden, heard Beelzebub sigh, and recoiled, “No! This is a trick.” 

He threw the journal down, following the familiar steps down into the shop and froze. This wasn’t right, he didn’t live in Aziraphale’s shop... why was his flat at the top of the stairs? But it wasn’t his flat—there were no towering ceilings, no open spaces. Just a room for his indoor plants, a bedroom, living room, and a kitchenette—but it had always been this way. Hadn’t it? He frowned, unease gnawing at him. Crowley held his breath as he made his way down the old staircase, he could tell that it was all wrong. There were books, sure. But the shelves lining the walls were darker, more modern. Everything had a place, neat and tidy. Heavy oak shelves were filled with occult items Aziraphale would have killed for, before catching himself, his insides churning at the thought. It wasn’t a shop, though. 

He had to get out of here.

Crowley pushed past, opening the door and running into the street before stuttering to a halt, then turning around. Horror etched into his features.

This wasn’t England. He wasn’t in Soho.

No, of course, it wasn’t. He’d been assigned to Savannah in the early 1800s. In front of him, an eerily familiar bookshop’s windows stared back at him. Instead of the bustling streets of Soho, few people ambled by and salt hung heavy in the air. 

_A. J. Crowley & Co. _A building of dark wood and brick with a heavy maroon door. It looked out of place in the bright southern sun. 

The demon’s mouth went dry. He tried to take a steadying breath but failed.

Dual memories fought for control. He remembered excitedly visiting Aziraphale on the first day he opened his bookshop; he also recalled with perfect clarity putting the finishing touches on his own, a dedication to his beloved, lover of stories and knowledge. A piece of him here on Earth, a tribute.

Crowley walked back towards the offending building, running his fingers shakily over the doorknobs before slipping inside. 

Inside was so familiar: the spine of every book, each object on the shelves. He recalled traveling quite a bit. Returning to England when given the chance, preferring it to his assigned home in the states. He used to bring back the stories he picked up on his travels and proudly display them as an offering to his angel.

He remembered meeting Wilde, thinking how much Aziraphale would like him… but no, that wasn’t right either? Was it? How could it be? Aziraphale hadn’t died. He recalled Aziraphale and Oscar’s friendship with unrestrained jealousy, the poncy prick.

Crowley growled.

He’d know if Aziraphale had died. He’d always known when the angel was in trouble or at risk of discorporation.

Or did he?

Crowley could feel him when Aziraphale truly needed him; Crowley could sense it. Their time in Heaven had assured that. Their spirits knew one another, he’d recognize it anywhere. He was bound by their association, not just in Heaven but their arrangement here on Earth.

He closed his eyes, reaching deep into himself, searching for any form of connection, anything.

A choked gasp escaped his throat, he couldn’t sense him. The loss, the grief still achingly fresh. The part of him that had always been _Aziraphale_ was gone. Severed.

How had he forgotten?

He heard buzzing come up behind him, “We knew you were still grieving, Crowley, but this is pathetic. ” Standing at his side, Beelzebub glanced at him, “Do you think you were the only one to lose someone in the war? We all made sacrifices. You just happened to be an Archangel and the brother of our master. If not for that, you could have been left to rot like the rest of us.”.

He glanced at Beelzebub, pinching the bridge of his nose, a vision of them as they once were, overlaying their current form. “Gabriel. You were Gabriel’s. And. And he was yours.”

They stiffened, eyes steely, “Yes.”

Crowley felt the room spin again as he fell to his knees, catching his throbbing head in his hands. He felt helpless, weak.

“Aziraphale’s gone?”

“Yes Crowley, he’s gone.” He was surprised when Beelzebub sounded sympathetic, albeit a bit annoyed. 

“You were Aziraphale's friend too.”

The Prince of Flies made a choking sound, eked out a “Yes.”

Crowley looked up at them, “He’s really gone?”

He saw Beelzebub stiffen; their eyes widen. “Yes, Crowley. Aziraphale is gone,” they said in a whisper. 

“The apocalypse?” he asked.

“You gave the Antichrist to a human family who couldn’t have children. Adam Young is human...mostly. We can’t tell if he still has his power. It seems we have no authority over him and neither does Heaven. He chose not to end the world—you won. Your precious humans will live. For now.”

Crowley stayed on his knees for some time, the sun shining through the window turning orange, then to darkness. He didn’t notice when Beelzebub left.

Aziraphale couldn’t be gone.

He couldn’t.

The thought kept ringing in his brain, echoing through his skull. Every time he shut his golden eyes; he saw his beloved die.

He steeled himself, rising unsteadily. He made his way into the backroom; still remembering that as their place, their refuge. Gone was the old tartan couch—a sleek black leather settee sat in its place, but still, it felt like home.

He tipped forward, hand outstretched to catch himself, barely making it to the cushions. He curled in, arms tucked up around his knees, burying his face into the crook of the couch. Instead of cocoa and cinnamon, it smelled of cedar and brimstone.

Memories of drinking alone and with his beloved fought in his mind, wrongness weighing on him.

He eventually passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

When Crowley awoke a month later, a fine layer of dust settled over him, the memories flooded back.

All these years.

It wasn’t Aziraphale at the Eastern Gate; it had been his little sister Uriel, who’d not had the heart to kill him on sight, but instead had pushed him out of the garden.

He’d stolen her flaming sword, as it had been  _ his _ , only to turn around and give it to the humans, because it felt like something Aziraphale would have done.

He’d cursed them to death and war.

A man with a striking resemblance to Aziraphale had asked him out for oysters in Rome. he’d pretended, even as he took the other man into his bed. Crying out for Aziraphale when he came. The wrong hazel eyes boring into his soul as he shuddered in his arms.

Meeting one of King Arthur’s knights with a voice eerily like Aziraphale’s. The pitch was so close—if he closed his eyes, he could pretend. He’d made a point to see him again, just so he never forgot the sound of his voice. It had been getting harder to remember.

Meeting Shakespeare and thinking how much Aziraphale would have enjoyed his plays. Seeing Hamlet and making it a hit because somehow, something about it made him think of his Angel.

Going to France only to watch some poor bugger get caught in the revolutionary fervor. The pale curls and the striking nose were all it took; he had to save the poor man. They went for crepes and afterward, he took the man from behind, long fingers grasping at the platinum strands that were almost, almost right.

Visiting England because it was just the place Aziraphale would have liked best. Strolling through St. James Park, feeding the ducks and laughing to himself about how Aziraphale never understood the purpose of a duck when they’d still been creating the animals in the garden. 

The shop itself had brought him comfort on the bad days. Crowley had taken to collecting at some point in the early days of his time on Earth. If he were being honest with himself, it was likely more of a hoard he had created, meticulously hunting out things that made him think of Aziraphale. Scrolls, misprinted theological texts, occult ephemera—he had been gathering them for as long as he could remember. 

The shop  _ A. J. Crowley & Co. _ was a building made of old wood and brick, filled top to bottom with knickknacks and old books. Art framed with care hung on the walls, many depicting moments from biblical history such as the Serpent of Eden, or Noah’s Ark. However, it was in the very back of the building where hung his pride and joy; painted himself with love and care: a man with white-blond hair wearing an old-fashioned suit, a halo of light around his head and brilliant white wings erupting from behind. He held a flaming sword in his right hand and in the other an apple with a black and red serpent wrapped around the arm and draped across his shoulders. 

He opened the shop occasionally, not really selling much of anything but allowing people to use the space, often youths who needed a safe place to meet others like themselves. He liked to think Aziraphale would be proud of him for that. 

He wrote letters upon letters that Aziraphale would never see, filled with so many things he felt he’d left unsaid. 

And on the hard days, he just pretended. Allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to share a meal with him, to spend the day feeding the ducks or going to the theater, to end the day gossiping over too much wine. Or when he would close his eyes and feel phantom breath ghosting his lips, almost,  _ almost _ able to imagine what it would feel like for Aziraphale’s mouth to be pressed to his own. 

The days after were the worst, unable to pretend but unwilling to do anything else but wallow in his misery. Waking up alone when Aziraphale should have been tucked safely within his embrace… it cut through him in ways nothing else could. 

And there were times when his false memories overwhelmed him to the point that he would drink himself to sleep, allowing the alcohol to clear his troubled mind long enough to fall into the bliss of oblivion.

The false memories came and went. Some days were worse than others. He found he wished he could still pretend, that his phantom Aziraphale was still by his side, keeping loneliness at bay.

It hurt to think about too frequently. 

Six months had passed by in the blink of an eye.

Beelzebub had come by a few times since he’d woken up to a world without Aziraphale. He suspected they felt sorry for him and had for some reason decided to take pity on him and be nice.

Memories from before his Fall had returned in full force; not that he’d ever lost them, however, they were somehow fresh in his mind now. Raw and painful, itching under his skin, gnawing at his nerves. He was keenly aware that his great ruse was up. 

In the 6000 years, he’d been alone, fond memories of his time on Earth with the angel had turned sour. It was a sobering realization, but he was slowly coming to terms with it.

Still some days he was so sure Aziraphale had been there by his side since Eden, where he belonged, where he would have been if Crowley hadn’t screwed up so royally.

That was the worst part of it. It had been his fault. 

Well before he was sentenced to Fall, he’d planted the seed for rebellion inside his brother’s head. Had he just left well enough alone, had he not questioned everything, perhaps Lucifer would have rested content. Instead, he’d aired all his thoughts, all his unsettling questions. His doubts.

In the end, it was Aziraphale’s death that had truly pushed him over the edge. He’d been so angry at Her, so hurt. She wouldn’t answer him, acknowledge him. It was no surprise he’d taken a dive headfirst into the pits.

All his fault.

The years crept by.

He’d formed a strange camaraderie with Beelzebub.

They were surprisingly open regarding Gabriel. Beelzebub spoke of how difficult it had been at first, missing the connection with the Archangel, the longing for his touch. How they missed the pull of his power; the feeling of him that lived within them, always just below the surface, that had been cut off with their fall. How the phantom bond lingered, how they ached for their lost mate.

Crowley didn’t trust them, but there was something to be said for experiencing a similar tragedy. And they’d been close once. Once, long ago, in heaven, Bee and Aziraphale had been friends. They’d mentioned once while utterly shitfaced that there was a part of them that missed their friendship with Aziraphale nearly as much as their shattered bond with Gabriel.

He’d been surprised by their visits, uncertain of their purpose at first. While he enjoyed them, Crowley always got a distinct impression that they were holding something back.

Time crept by.

Crowley spent most of his time in the bookshop; though he never sold any books, unwilling to part with his collection.

The demon found he liked Savannah and wondered how he ever could have mistaken it as London when the two cities were so very different. The heat especially suited him much better than the cold winters of London. It rarely grew cold enough for him to need a coat, even in the middle of January.

Still, he longed for the times when he had believed Aziraphale was still with him. Nights spent drinking in an old shop in Soho, his angel by his side. Sometimes, he drank until the visions felt real once again.

Life went on, never complete, but inevitable. Tolerable…

Some days, he wished for a bath of holy water, others he just wished for a distraction to pass the time. He thought of visiting Soho, just to pretend for a little while longer, but the thought made him sick to his stomach. He hadn’t gone to London since his last assignment and he’d be loath to visit for a while.

In the end, however, Crowley did what he did best; he survived. He traveled a bit, exploring parts of the US he’d never dreamed of seeing before. Places that made even a mighty Archangel; albeit a Fallen one, feel small. 

Crowley loved the national parks, especially the mountainous ones. It was the closest he’d found to the views in Heaven while on Earth. A grueling climb to the top, where he would allow the sun to set on him, the night sky would explode into a billion shimmering diamonds, as he rested, cold and alone. 

He bided his time on Earth, doing his best to live for Aziraphale’s memory/sake. He spent his time wondering if his Brother; Lucifer, would ever send for him. Would he be recalled to hell? Would he even go if they asked? He wondered if his Mother regretted what She had done? 

He didn’t know the answers. Crowley only knew for certain that he missed his Principality, his Angel. 

He kept him only in his heart. Fractured though it might be, it still beat for him and him alone. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of a Character's death, but it's not real.

It had been 19 years since the world didn’t end, 19 years since Crowley and Aziraphale had seen the other, had known the other was still alive.

The plans of Heaven and Hell were rarely perfect. In general, they lacked enough creativity to make them foolproof. Their plan, thus far, had in fact gone off without a hitch, a piece of information both The Archangel Gabriel and The Prince of Hell were pleased to report—even if it was just to one another.

An Angel and Demon were sitting in the corner of a generic coffee shop in New York City. The shop itself was nothing special, just like hundreds of others dotted throughout the rest of the country. A green mermaid smiled at them from their cups.

“Has he shown any signs of remembering?” asked the man in the grey suit.

The demon shook their head no. “He seems to be content. I told you he’d look for the shop if we didn’t give him one.”

The man agreed. “It was a nice touch.”

Beelzebub took a sip of their venti Cinderella latte with extra whipped cream and caramel drizzle. “What about the angel? Does he remember anything?”

He shook his head. “He doesn’t have a clue. It was a good touch adding in the memories of other lovers. Thankfully, he already had a type. Can you believe him? Allowing humans to…to,” he gestured to his physical form; revulsion lacing his features, “…sully his temple?”

The demon snorted into their cup and raised an eyebrow at the angel. “This truly couldn’t have gone better, Gabe.”

He wrinkled his nose, “you’re right, Bee.”

A grin tugged at their lips, “feathered bastard.”

His violet eyes twinkled. “The same place next time?”

Beelzebub nodded, hand nearly reaching out for the angel before remembering better of themself.

As they parted, neither realized their plans were unraveling as they spoke.

On the other side of the world, an angel was settling in for a long evening. He’d always kept journals, as long as he could remember.

Though, granted, his memory wasn’t what he thought it was.

There were still days when he longed for a demon that didn’t exist.

Flashes of intrusive memories bombarded him with the worst moment of his long life, seemingly at random.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop reliving that terrible moment. How he’d forgotten it for so long could only be explained as a blessing from the Almighty herself.

He had long ago learned to avoid sleep. Any time he closed his eyes too long; Aziraphale saw his beloved Raphael being impaled while aiding another angel. Raphael had bent to heal a fallen soldier on the battlefield. He was focused solely on his patient, giving a healing blessing to his fellow angel when Raphael was taken from him.

Aziraphale had tried to scream, tried to call out, but the rebel angel was too fast, Raphael had noticed his attacker too late. His eyes gone wide with surprise; he’d met Aziraphale’s horrified gaze before he fell.

Aziraphale had felt the searing pain of his life torn in half, emptiness rushing in.

He could remember Gabriel pulling him away, commanding him to fight.

Then it was over.

Lucifer fell, as did many other angels. Gabriel’s own bondmate fell alongside Lucifer. Horrible to witness, the betrayal evident on the Archangel’s face as he saw them step forward to stand with his Brother. They had been Aziraphale’s friend too, once so long ago... 

Aziraphale had been allowed to see him one last time before he was returned to the universe with the other angels who’d been taken. Raphael's funeral had practically broken him. He stood helpless as his beloved’s body dispersed into glittering specks, as Raphael returned to the stars that he had crafted. He remembered Michael embracing him, crying alongside him. He was her twin, after all; she’d never known a world without Raphael. But then, loss was entirely new to all of them.

Aziraphale had taken a clipping of his love’s long auburn hair and kept it safely tucked inside his robes. Later, he’d placed it inside a locket he kept on him at always.

There were times when he still felt Crowley; no, that wasn’t right, Raphael had never left him.

Gabriel admonished him for ever believing someone as holy as Raphael would have ever become a demon. Bondmate or not, it was wrong to label one of the dead hosts as a demon when they’d died in such a heroic way.

Gabriel was correct of course, but in his heart, he knew he would rather have taken a very much alive demon instead of a dead hero any day.

He supposed he should be thankful for Gabriel’s aid these past years.

Perhaps it was because he was weak, his heart too shattered to care whether his mate was a fallen angel. He couldn’t imagine that it would have kept him from Raphael as it had Gabriel and Beelzebub. Seeing them stand together the day the world should have ended, so distant, uncaring towards the other had been difficult to stomach when he so clearly remembered them being so in love.

He missed Raphael and perhaps, one day, if Angels had an afterlife, he would see him, hold him, touch him, once again.

Regardless, he had his journals to keep him company.

How he could have been so deluded to think, to truly believe that Raphael had been with him all these years? Well, he blamed his human corporation. He’d been in too much pain, so his mind had regressed, replacing the memories that would cause him pain with something better.

That was really the only reasonable explanation. 

His journals often referred to Crowley, and sometimes Raphael.

He’d been shocked to find the old Bentley, in immaculate condition, and parked in a shed behind his shop. In his journals, he’d often written about how much Raphael would have loved the automobile. His beloved had been so very excited for humans to come along.

He had always spoken of them with such regard, had worried for them well before they were ever created and had such high hopes for them.

As time passed Aziraphale found that he’d sought out men who looked like Raphael: slender men with auburn hair, golden eyes, and long, clever fingers. The number of times—no, he mustn’t go there tonight.

Sometimes, he wished Gabriel had never told him. Never healed his mind so he would see the truth.

Deluded though he may have been, at least, he didn’t have to suffer the enduring grief for his beloved.

He passed the night, like most nights, reading, setting his journals aside for Wilde, allowing him to recall memories that were not of Crowley or Raphael, but of a dear friend... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sentence almost made it into the final piece until my Beta kindly pointed out that it sounded like "bad porn." It's become a running joke because I meant it very innocently, but it really does sound like a bad smut scene involving the Ineffables. So, please enjoy this snippet. 
> 
> "Any time Aziraphale closed his eyes too long, Aziraphale saw beloved Raphael being impaled from behind on an angelic spear."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Forced Memory Loss

The next day, Aziraphale was puttering around the shop when the door opened as a customer walked into the building. He sighed, he was much too exhausted to deal with a customer today. 

“Welcome, do feel free to browse, I…” He paused. There was a young man standing in his shop, tall with pale blue eyes and dark hair. Aziraphale winced, a familiar ache forming between his temples as two sets of memories competed for his attention. Shaking his head, doing his best to push away the lingering thoughts, he smiled at the man. He cleared his throat. “I can help you find an item if you are searching for something specific.

His mouth had gone dry. Aziraphale would recognize that man anywhere; granted the last time he saw him he was eleven and throwing cake, but the curve of his brow, the gently sardonic look, the lock of hair falling in his eyes...

He stumbled, clutching his head. These damned headaches came at the most inopportune moments.

The man was looking at him intently.

Aziraphale felt a hand on his shoulder. Warlock Dowling was searching his face, worry evident on his features.

“Here, come sit down,” said Warlock as he led him over to one of the plush chairs under the window, perfect for a demon sunning in snake form… but no… that wasn’t right either. He’d been through this, he’d never allow for a snake in his shop. It was simply ridiculous.

He paused in the middle of the floor, his arm steadied by a ghost from the past.

The angel pushed the intrusive hallucinations from his mind. “Apologies dear boy, you just reminded me of someone.”

The young man smirked; an all too familiar expression, one he’d seen on Cro… no, not Crowley.

“I remind you of me—you were my Gardener, Mr. Francis Fell! Don’t you remember? Warlock Dowling, you worked with us when I was little. What are you doing here in this bookshop? And why do you look so strange?” He pulled back a little and noted: “Your teeth are definitely different.” Warlock was grinning now. 

Aziraphale nodded, befuddled. “Yes, that was me. You always have been sharp as a tack! I’m surprised you recognized me, that was a long time ago. You kept your Nanny and I—Oh dear, you kept me on my toes!” 

“I knew it! You went off together, didn’t you? You haven’t aged a bit! You seem younger now without the teeth!? Have you had the shop long? It is yours, right? What about Nanny Ashtoreth? Where is she anyway?” the man exclaimed, glancing around the shop with a hopeful expression.

Aziraphale eyes snapped up to meet the man’s, his head splitting. It hadn’t hurt this bad since he’d woken up on that horrible morning expecting Crowley to be there, only to find Gabriel smirking at him.

“You said” - he swallowed hard, standing up and taking two steps towards Warlock - “you had a Nanny?”

The other man nodded. “Coraline Ashtoreth—the two of you were good friends, we used to have tea in the garden? She was super goth, red hair, always wore sunglasses because of her eye condition?” He sounded unsure of himself.

“Oh.” He shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. Something is... very much... wrong, Master Warlock,” he said as he cried out in pain and tumbled forwards, tripping over a rug and nearly hitting his head on a coffee table before Warlock could catch him.

“Shit,” Warlock said, to nobody in particular.

Aziraphale was too heavy to pick up, but Warlock did take a cushion off one of the chairs and placed it under his head, and after a bit of poking around, he found a tartan blanket and covered him.

His former gardener slept for three days.

Warlock had been staying in the shop with the Closed sign hanging on the door, had found a bathroom upstairs, stocked with faded tartan bath towels—and some kind of occult symbol in the medicine cabinet. He’d ordered take away a few times, leafed through a stack of books, waiting for Aziraphale to wake up.

Had Mr. Francis not been breathing evenly, Warlock may have worried more, but something told him it would be fine, that he shouldn’t call for an ambulance. If Francis was an angel as he suspected; especially after nosing around the shop (between the glowing runes underneath the rug he’d tripped over and the various symbols hidden around the building) it likely wouldn’t have ended well for the man… holy being… thing.

It was around 9 PM and Warlock, who was nose deep in a pristine signed first edition of Pride and Prejudice, had just reached the part where Darcy proposes to Elizabeth the first time. He found it hard to believe anyone could treat someone so terribly while claiming to love them. Warlock wrinkled his nose, certain if he were ever in that position, he’d make sure the other person had no doubt about his affections. He had just turned to the next page with a sigh of disgust when he heard a noise coming from the man next to him.

Finally! Warlock had been starting to worry he’d been wrong not to call for help.

Aziraphale groaned.

Warlock jumped to his feet and rushed to kneel at Aziraphale’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder to still him. “Glad to see you’re awake Mr. Francis. Or is it Mr. Fell? I’m not sure what to call you, but I don’t think you’re a Francis.”

Aziraphale attempted to speak but the words were stuck in his throat, his mouth too dry to speak. He attempted to swallow a few times to no avail. 

“Oh,” Warlock stood up, “I’m going to get you a glass of water, back in a mo.”

Aziraphale nodded heard the tap running and cracked open one eye.

Then another.

His head was sore, but for the first time in fifteen years, perhaps even longer than that, he had complete clarity. 

Gabriel had lied to him. He had lied, and he had stolen the person Aziraphale treasured most. He remembered every moment from before and after the fall now. Every laugh, every passing glance, every blessed and godforsaken moment of his life with Crowley. How had he forgotten Crowley? Worse, he’d been made to believe his beloved had been killed. Dread settled into his stomach -- was Crowley even alive? Where was he?

His lungs tightened, and his panicked breath rasped out of him, chest burning as fear coursed through his veins. _Where_ was Crowley? But he couldn’t think that, couldn’t think at all, couldn’t breathe… 

And then a warm hand was steady against his arm, calming, familiar. Not Crowley, no… but... “Warlock?” he croaked.

Hands tugged at his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position. He gladly accepted the glass, gulping the cool water down. He felt the throb of his headache waning.

“How… how long?” he asked. 

“How long have you been out?” The young man laughed. “Not long. _Only_ three whole days. I hope you don’t mind, but I may have closed your store… and er, well. Been reading without paying for the books, I don’t know how you sell any of these—are they all priceless first editions?”

The angel grimaced; thankful the boy hadn’t attempted to sell anything. “I only sell if I can’t help it,” he said wryly.

Warlock laughed at his comment then sat down beside him on the floor. “So… I take it something shocked you into a comatose state? It surprised me too—I nearly fell out myself. Does it have anything to do with Nanny?”

Aziraphale nodded and winced as his head throbbed.

“Is that why she’s not here with you? Something happened to her?”

Again, he nodded. More gently this time. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Warlock asked softly.

Aziraphale glanced at the man, just a boy still. He could feel a sense of love coming from him; hope too, but immense pain as well. As if something had broken him at some point that he’d never fully recovered from. “They took us, we’d gone out to have breakfast. I’d wanted blueberries…” he drifted off. Almost to himself, he said, “How long have they been playing with our memories?”

He felt a warm hand touch his arm, looked up to worried eyes. 

“Is… is she…” Warlock asked, concern lacing his features. 

He shook his head, “Rapha—Crowley, your Nanny, sh—he’s.” Aziraphale winced as another sharp pain shot through his skull. No, I believe he’s… somewhere. I can still feel him almost, but it’s been blocked. I would know; I believe, I hope, if Crowley was well and truly gone from this world. Wherever they’ve taken him, he’s still here. Still on Earth somewhere.”

“Who are _they_? Who took Nanny… er… Crowley?” the man asked.

“Crowley, his name is Crowley." He caught Warlock's gaze, "The Archangel Gabriel. Gabriel took him.” 

Warlock’s eyes widened in shock, the color drained from his face and he sucked in a breath. “Oh.” 

Aziraphale’s fear was turning to anger. What Gabriel had done was unforgivable, “Gabriel has tried to keep us apart since Raph--Crowley Fell, had all but broken our sacred bond and then when we finally found each other again, they take him from me. I will not stand for this.”

Or at all, apparently, because he fell back against the chair when he attempted to stand up.

“Easy there, Francis.”

He sighed. “It’s Aziraphale, actually.”

“Ah. Well, Aziraphale, so, ahh... Angels, huh? At least I was right about you being a bit… occult? Something told me not to call for paramedics… I just knew you’d be alright.”

Aziraphale made a face. “Angels are _ethereal_ , not occult—and how would you know I’m an angel?”

Warlock shrugged, gesturing to the shop around them. “You’d sort of have to be an idiot not to figure it out, you’re not subtle Mr. Fra—Aziraphale.” He blew air out his mouth. “Well… that and Nanny always called you angel. At first, I thought it was a pet name but seeing you again, completely changed but no older…”

“Quite,” mumbled Aziraphale. “You’re not wrong. You always were a bright child.”

Warlock’s cheeks colored at the complement. He looked down at his lap nervously, “I’m working on my dissertation you know; I blame you… well, Brother Francis, anyway. That’s kind of how I ended up here in the first place. Someone told me you refuse to sell books but will sometimes allow students to use them as primary sources.”

“Well, yes, I’ve spent a number of years collecting them after all - why would I get rid of them after all that work? If they are taken care of properly, I don’t really mind.”

“So, the angels lied to you. Nanny is probably somewhere out there but you’re unsure where.” Warlock paused, chewing on his lip. “So, what are we going to do about it?” he said with bravado.

The angel slumped back in the chair. “I’m not sure dear boy, this isn’t the first time Gabriel has done this.” Aziraphale shook his head, his memories were clear and pain-free for the first time in nearly two decades. “I remember it now, being taken into one of the old medic rooms, it was some type of old spell. I’m not sure they knew exactly how to do it at first, it had been Raphael’s—Crowley’s job to do that sort of thing and I can’t imagine he would have had a reason back then to use it.” 

“So, Crowley; Nanny, was also named Raphael?” 

Aziraphale nodded; still lost in thought, “he was an Archangel… beautiful he was." He said in a daze.

“Gabriel took you into Raphael’s old medic room?” gauged Warlock. 

Aziraphale drifted for a moment through memories of being dragged into the dim room, still stained with ash and blood from the battle. He nodded, “Gabriel said it was for the best, lest I be tempted into ruin and I think I reluctantly agreed.” He shook his head, running a hand through his matted curls. “This was a long time ago, before Crowley… fell. Please don’t think me weak… I missed him so very much then, I think I would have done anything to forget he’d betray me. That he would betray _Her_.” He shook his head. Six-thousand years he’d been on earth with his bondmate, six-thousand years he could have reached out to him and instead, he’d been cold. Distant, aloof. How could Crowley not have hated him? “It worked so well - even though we found each other, I didn’t really remember him from before… I suppose Gabriel did it again. He must have been concerned I would remember; it’s why he hasn’t left me alone.”

Warlock watched him pensively. “That’s—horrible. I… God Aziraphale, I’m so sorry.” He chewed nervously on his lip. “You said his name was Crowley? Mom said it was Coraline Ashtoreth. No wonder I never could find her.” 

The angel could sense his yearning, the longing a child feels for a lost parent. He’d never thought to check on the boy. What had this man faced to leave him with so much loss? Warlock, despite the fact he’d grown into a man, still looked very much the child he’d been nearly 19 years ago. Sensitive and kind. Had he been the Antichrist, Aziraphale wondered if they would have truly had to worry, with such a loving child. He covered his insecurities with a sharp tongue, but his true self lay hidden behind those cruel words. Aziraphale wondered what Crowley would make of him now, all grown up. “When he was with you my dear child, she was Coraline Ashtoreth, usually he goes by Crowley, sometimes Coraline, even Anthony for a while… well still does I suppose. I… wouldn’t know. Not now.”

Warlock looked thoughtful for a moment, “Do you have a computer with internet access?”

The angel bit his lip, “I do have a computer, but I’ve never had a reason to use the world wide web.”

The man nodded. “We could go back to my flat… is it, are you safe here?”

“Dear, I doubt I’m safe anywhere, your flat at least is somewhere away from here. I don’t think I can bear to be here right now, too many memories.”

“Of course, do you want to pack a bag?”

“Perhaps a few things, just give me a moment,” he said quietly, distracted.

“I’ll… just be here then.”

Aziraphale, much to Warlock’s surprise, never packed clothes. He did, however, select several ominous-looking volumes before stuffing them into an old leather briefcase.


	8. Chapter 8

Warlock unlocked the door to his flat. It was situated nearly thirty-minutes from the bookshop in a less than stellar part of town. The ancient door was worn, with paint chipping off and in need of a good scrubbing, “It’s not much, but it’s mine and yours too if you need it.”

Aziraphale nodded, stepping past the threshold and into the bleak flat Warlock called home. It wasn’t what he’d imagined for the boy; he had never imagined Warlock would have lacked for anything in the world, as wealthy as his parents had been.

The angel glanced around, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m going to see if there’s anything in the fridge, then we can get to work?”

“Naturally,” replied Aziraphale.

Warlock walked into the kitchen, opened his fridge. Nothing. He’d need to order pizza or something soon. He’d been pretty short on cash lately and had forgotten he didn’t have anything waiting back home. His insides were churning from hunger and worry. Warlock sighed, shut the door to the refrigerator harder than he needed, and tried to get a handle on his frustration.

When he walked back into the tiny living room, Aziraphale had one of his highlighters in hand and was marking over the walls, muttering something as he did. He recognized a few symbols he’d seen in a textbook years before. Curious, he asked, "Aziraphale? What exactly is it you’re doing to the wall?”

Aziraphale paused his writing, turning to look at Warlock, “I’m creating wards, think of it as a celestial security system. Only those we wish to enter may. It should keep us safe from scrying as well if I do it correctly, and I am confident that I will!” he replied in a manner of fact tone.

Warlock shrugged and sat down. His landlord was never going to give him back his security deposit anyway, and the idea of wards made him feel a bit safer. But his panic had only seemed to increase since they’d arrived home. What the hell was he playing at? He’d never exactly been brave and now here he was meddling in the affairs of beings much more important than he’d ever hope to be. Warlock lost himself in thought as he picked at the hole in his trousers, unable to concentrate on what the angel was currently scribbling on his wall in bright pink highlighter.

When Aziraphale finally took a step back, pleased with his work, he smiled and sat down beside Warlock on the old sofa.

Warlock looked troubled, uncertain, then finally, glanced towards Aziraphale and spoke., “Something has been bothering me about this whole thing.”

Aziraphale nodded, “yes?”

“Why exactly...” He paused, selecting his words carefully. “Why would I have a demon as my Nanny? And why were you; an angel, my gardener? Was it a way to get close to my father? Was he supposed to end the world or something?”

“Ah, that,” replied Aziraphale.

Warlock raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Your father wasn’t supposed to end the world, dear. You were,” he said softly.

Warlock blinked. “What!”

“Yes, dear. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I suppose, we had mistaken you for someone else. The real Antichrist you see was actually in a small village; Tadfield, Oxfordshire. His name is Adam Young; he was a lovely fellow,” Aziraphale replied with an awkward chuckle. “You really were quite the little hellion as a child, though. We were _quite_ worried about the fate of the world when you were six.”

Warlock was silent for several minutes, emotions just as clear on his face now as they did when he was still a child. He finally glanced up; meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. “That’s why you were always trying to convince me to be good, kind and loving while Nanny encouraged the opposite.” He sighed, pressing his palms against his eyes. “It explains so much of my childhood. I never much wanted to crush anyone under the heel of my boot.”

“For what it’s worth, Warlock, I am very sorry. You never asked to be a part of this, weren’t even destined to be part of this, and we dragged you into it.”

Warlock nodded. “I’m going to take a shower, yeah? Make yourself at home and try coming up with a plan? I’ll leave my phone in here if you don’t mind ordering dinner. I don’t have anything to cook.”

“Of course,” replied Aziraphale, fine lines of worry gracing his features. He needed the truth, but it didn’t mean the truth would be easy or kind for him to bear. “Warlock?” he asked.

He turned to look at the angel on his sofa. “Yeah?”

“He did love you; we did love you, please never question that. While our methods were lamentable, we grew to care for you deeply. It would be difficult to spend so much time with a child such as yourself and not grow to care for them.” Aziraphale’s gaze grew distant. “He always said if we survived this, if you survived, he would check on you often. He didn’t want to leave you with the Dowling’s.” Aziraphale met his gaze once more. “When Crowley died; when I thought he had died, I was consumed by my grief.” Aziraphale released a shuddering breath. “I never realized how difficult it must have been for you.”

Warlock worried his lip. “I understand, I do. Just, if you could order some food. I’ll be back shortly.” He turned, pushing past the bedroom door, closing it firmly behind him.

Aziraphale nodded to himself and reached to pick up the discarded phone beside him.

When the door shut behind him, Aziraphale slumped back onto the couch. He quickly placed an order with a minor miracle he hoped wouldn’t be noticed; unlikely since it was a relatively normal occurrence for him. He next took several shaky breaths then covered his face with his hands. He’d needed to get away from the shop, needed to be far away from it until he was certain he could be there without breaking down in a way he couldn’t afford to. Stiff upper lip - that was the ticket for now. 

He was angry and hurt, relieved and terrified. He felt sure Crowley was alive. If Heaven hadn’t assassinated him, then it was likely Hell hadn’t killed Crowley either. It just didn’t make sense to the angel. Why would Hell willingly work with Heaven? Who else knew what had happened? Gabriel, certainly, but were the other angels involved? If they knew who Crowley was for all those years, why did they assign him to be his counterpart on Earth? 

This had to be part of God’s plan to be so convoluted and Warlock just showing up in his shop, after all that time? And it just had that feel - of something important happening. Whatever it was, it was clearly vital for him to be here, at this moment, with the former not-antichrist. 

And together, somehow, they would come up with a plan. 

He closed his eyes in silent prayer and set to work. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Warlock has shitty parents, references of homophobia.

Just shy of an hour later, Warlock returned to the small living room, to find books covering the table, more symbols drawn on the walls in new shades of highlighter and notebook paper scattered in an indecipherable but distinct pattern. Aziraphale was immersed in his work, settled into the straight-backed folding chair at Warlock’s rickety dining table, fingers brushing over ancient texts, scribbling away on the cheap notebook paper Warlock used for class. Aziraphale didn’t notice that he was being watched until Warlock cleared his throat, startling the angel out of his trance. Putting the pen down, he smiled up at him hopefully. 

Warlock felt uneasy at that smile. Only hours before, Aziraphale had woken up from a three-day coma in a state of shock, and suddenly he was acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Hey, it looks like you’ve been busy,” he said awkwardly. 

Aziraphale studied him for a moment and noticed Warlock’s cheeks had some color again, but the dark circles still underlined his eyes. “I took the liberty of ordering us Italian. I hoped you’d still like pasta and pizza?” 

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Warlock replied automatically, grimacing despite himself. He was awfully hungry, and he’d learned not to turn down a free meal, but the unsettling feelings from discovering the truth about his childhood gardener and nanny had left his nerves in shambles and his stomach in knots. 

The angel hoped he’d made the right decision. He picked up the books and placed them in a neat pile at the same moment the door’s buzzer rang. 

“I’ll be back in a sec; I need to hop down to the door” 

“One-moment dear, please, allow me.” Digging in his pocket, he removed a tarnished silver clip and handed Warlock several large bills. “Do make sure she keeps the change; she’s having a dreadful time paying her rent.”

Warlock nodded and headed out and down the stairs. A short while later, Warlock returned with two large bags of food and two boxed pizzas. 

Aziraphale grinned, “Let’s eat, shall we? I’m famished and you look a bit peaky yourself. 

“Alright, yeah,” said Warlock, as he walked into the small kitchen and rummaged around for plates and forks. “What do you want to drink?” he asked, just as he heard a cork popping behind him. Curious, he returned to find the angel pouring a dark red wine into a glass that was most certainly not from Warlock’s limited stock. 

Aziraphale raised the glass. “A little something from home, it should pair nicely with our meal.” 

Warlock nodded, then plopped down rather suddenly on his sofa and accepted a glass from the man next to him. 

Feeling a bit stunned, Warlock reached out for the plate Aziraphale handed him and tucked in, his mind racing. There was an angel on his sofa; there was more food in his house at one time than he’d had in weeks; his Nanny was actually a demon, and the last time he’d tasted wine this good had been at one of his parents’ soirees nine years earlier. He glanced towards the man who was happily stuffing his face with noodles.

Chewing meditatively, Warlock tried to absorb all of this. Their identities. The reason they’d raised him at all; how close he’d come to not having the kind of love and care they extended him as a child. How he’d agreed to try and help locate a long-lost demon. He nearly choked on a too-hot bite of tomato and Aziraphale patted his back, bracing and familiar. Brother Francis, one of the most important figures from his childhood, was an angel. 

More importantly, his Nanny Ashtoreth had been a demon. A demon who was now very much lost and who he’d offered to help find. For the hundredth time since he arrived home that evening, he wondered what he’d been thinking. 

“Is everything alright, Warlock?” asked Aziraphale. “You have hardly eaten, and you’ve had none of your wine.” 

Warlock only nodded in reply and tried to smile, lifting his fork and absently twirling pasta around the utensil.

Satisfied, Aziraphale returned to his plate, idly glancing at the boy he’d helped raise those long years ago. His curiosity was piqued, besides living in a place like this, he’d noticed the boy’s clothes; old, worn, and the lack of food kept in his flat was particularly concerning. He should have kept in touch, looked after him. 

When they found Crowley; and he was certain that they would, he’d have to face his disappointment. “How are your parents? Still in London or did they eventually move back to America?” 

Warlock frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, “I haven’t seen my parents in years. My mother used to send money or cards sometimes, but it’s been a while.

Aziraphale glanced up, surprised. “I find it difficult to believe that Harriet would allow you to go years without her meddling.”

He laughed dryly, “yeah.”

Aziraphale sat his plate down, “Warlock?” he prodded. 

“They didn’t approve of my ‘lifestyle choices’,” he said bitterly. 

He frowned, “Your choices?”

The boy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s nothing, just a disagreement we had a long time ago.”

Aziraphale frowned, and placed a reassuring hand on his arm, gently observing, “Warlock, you’ve never been a good liar.” His eyes crinkled in understanding. “Remember, I’m an angel. It’s my job to tell when humans are lying or need assistance, and it seems that at present you need both.”

Warlock frowned, then studied him closely as he chose his words carefully. “I’m bisexual. My parents didn’t take my announcement well—at all. And when I turned 18, that was it, my father demanded I leave.” He studied his glass and swirled the red liquid. “My parents have consistently cheated on one another since I was a child.” 

Aziraphale nodded, urging him on.

“Somehow, that’s perfectly fine, but I’m the one in the wrong. They cut me out. Cut me off, just like that.”

“Oh, my dear, I am so very sorry. It’s cruel for a parent to treat their child so callously.” Aziraphale said, a deep frown crossing his features. He’d never much liked the Dowling’s; he’d found them to be unbearable before, but now? He was livid. How could a parent abandon their child?

Warlock shrugged. “I do well enough for myself. I got a fellowship, managed with scholarships for my baccalaureate. Anyway. So, do you have a plan?”

Aziraphale squeezed the boy’s arm, well aware that he was changing the subject. He’d permit it for now, but he made a note to speak to him again on a less stressful day. Perhaps when Crowley could be there with him. Demon or no, he’d always been better with this sort of thing. Aziraphale shook his head. “Not yet, He’s on earth. I’m sure of that. Neither heaven nor hell wants us there to make trouble. I have an idea of what they’ve done and I’m certain they believed they would be unable to kill us, or they wouldn’t have tried something so uncharacteristically creative. The question is, where is he? Why can’t I feel him?” 

“May I ask, how would you be able to feel him? Is that some kind of angel thing?”

Aziraphale beamed. “A bit. Do you believe in soulmates, Warlock?”

He considered, then shook his head. “I don’t think so?”

“For angels, and some humans too, God gave us a gift. She made certain we would never be lonely. For angels like myself and Crowley, it was much more than companionship. We shared a link, a bond that connected us. Kept us tethered to one another, able to communicate, to find each other, beyond the limitations of space.” Aziraphale sighed and placed his hand over his chest., “He should be here, I should feel him, but I fear the remaining tendrils that must have drawn us together after his fall was severed. I forgot him, not once but twice.”

"How did you know it was Nanny?" Warlock had always been skeptical of the soulmate theory, it seemed entirely too improbable. Too good to be true.

Aziraphale smiled warmly. "To put it simply; She made me for him and him for me. Two sides of a coin, if you will. I never knew a time in Heaven where he wasn't by my side. Of course, love came later. Loving him was inevitable, but it took years of close companionship to form. He was my very best friend." 

“If she gave you to one another, why would she take that away? It seems cruel.”

“She punished those who fell—the angels who betray Her. Most pairs fell together. Only a handful of us was separated, I was devastated. Beyond consoling. That must be why Gabriel hid my memories from me ”

He paused. “if you forgot him, what did you believe happened when he was suddenly gone? From what you’ve said, you must have spent quite a lot of time together here on Earth.”

Aziraphale grimaced. “The first time I forgot him, I didn’t remember anything of the bond, I thought the Almighty had taken those memories from me, or that I hadn’t had one. The second time, I thought he was a beautiful fiction, one I’d created when living on earth alone became too difficult.” 

“They made you believe that you’d made him up?” he asked incredulously.

He nodded, looking down at his hands. “I believed he died in the first war between heaven and hell. They placed false memories of him dying in my head, but he didn’t die at all. He fell, and I forgot him. It was my own fault then, I’m afraid, I asked Gabriel to make me forget.” 

Warlock nodded, biting his lip. “That’s unacceptable… We’ll find him; as you said, he’s got to be on earth. We’ll get him back, Aziraphale.” 

“You can’t know that, dear,” he replied softly. “I’d like to believe we will find him, but to locate him, I’d need someone else with as much power as I have, if not more, to search for him. And I fear doing it manually may take longer than your mortal life would allow.” 

Warlock turned his attention to his plate, picking again at the spaghetti. “I… we can do this. I’ve looked for you both for a while. I just never expected to find you like this,” he muttered before glancing back at the angel sitting on his very old sofa. “I have faith we’ll find him.”

Aziraphale shifted, humans put so much stock into faith and believing in a higher power. He’d long ago lost his own faith, only a short time before he lost Crowley too. Perhaps it should be Warlock he puts his faith in, this wonderfully headstrong human who believes with everything in him that they will find Crowley. He’s sick of believing Heaven will help him. They never have before and it’s clearer now than ever before that he has only ever been a means to an end. He picked up his glass and took a long drink. “Then I believe we will too.” 

Dinner passed quietly, as did the rest of the evening, the topic of Crowley or Heaven and Hell disregarded by unstated agreement. They spoke instead of the authors Aziraphale had met, those of whom he’d become close with, the opening of his bookstore, and even the role that Crowley had played in his love for the written word. 

Warlock relished every moment. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Day drinking

Three days had passed since Aziraphale woke up with his memories intact. Six days since the angel had returned to Warlock’s life and turned it completely upside down.

They had settled on a plan: do their best to find out where Crowley was, then hopefully come up with some way to retrieve him. Neither of them admitted they had no idea how to do that. 

On the first day, Aziraphale checked through as many phone books that he could get his hands on while Warlock searched through all the social media websites he could think of. Myspace, Facebook, Friendster, Tagged, and even a website that seemed perfect for demonic activity: VampireFreaks. Google had brought no results and neither had his Yahoo searches. Aziraphale caught him talking to himself out loud and said that if online dating was a route to temptation, Crowley could be on those sites too. 

He’d tried every keyword, name and alias Aziraphale and he could think of without much luck. Lists of Anthony Crowleys, Tonys and AJs, Coraline Ashtoreths, and even Raphaels. Without any better leads, the pair were utterly at a loss as to how to find him. It seemed they would need to follow a less than typical approach. Warlock was sent to retrieve a handful of books left at the shop on strict instructions to return without delay; it wouldn’t do for Heaven to see he’d been snooping around. 

The second day, Warlock helped read over various spell books Aziraphale had procured from the shop but had found the entire process unhelpful as he had absolutely no clue what to search for. He’d gone out and purchased enough sweets to last them a month in a stress-induced haze.

On the third day, finally recovered from their binge on wine gums and Aero bars, Aziraphale and Warlock had given up on research and had gotten well and truly sloshed by mid-afternoon.

Aziraphale glanced at the young man laid across the sofa, his arm slung over his face and sighed. “We’re not going to find him. It’s too much world. Too big. Big oceans too.”

Warlock nodded uneasily. He’d never been one for drinking and between the quality of drink and the amount he’d consumed, it would be quite the hangover when he came to. “M’hungry,” he mumbled, “Ziraphale, do the hand thingy and make pizza. The good kind, you know?”

“No?” 

Warlock waved his hands in the shape of a circle. “The round kind with garlic,” he hiccupped. 

“Ah, alright,” he nodded, snapping his fingers. Across town, an order for food appeared with an address for delivery that was technically out of their range.

Forty-five minutes later, Warlock had begun to sober up to a point where he was steady on his feet. His stomach was growling and the wait for their food had been unbearable. He mumbled, grumbled and even sobbed at one point, mistaking his cell phone vibrating for the buzzer that _should_ have signaled lunch. Aziraphale had tutted and pressed a glass of water into his hands while doing his best to soothe his young friend. 

Between waiting for food to arrive and careful sips of the too-full glass, an idea began to form. He kept returning to the conversation they’d had earlier. Trying to grasp an idea, but unable to make the connection.

He absently accepted a plate from Aziraphale, and he’d been happily eating when the wires connected. “What about the real antichrist?” asked Warlock between a bite of garlic bread.

Aziraphale chewed thoughtfully. “What about him, dear?”

“You said, you… you needed another angel? What about him?”

The angel set his slice down on the plate in thought, then nodded. “It could work. But I haven’t seen him since he was eleven. There is a good chance he won’t help us -- or can’t.”

“Adam Young, you said? Not exactly an unusual name. What did he look like, anyway?”

“Curly hair, seemed intelligent, adorable child really,” he replied then happily popped an olive in his mouth. “Friends were something else too, defeated the four horsem--” He pursed his lips mid-chew - “horse people, one had my sword! Can you believe it?” 

“What’z people doing with your sword anyway?” Warlock asked. 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, mumbling, “Starting wars, apparently.”

“that’s… dumb.” He answered lamely. 

“Very, Adam and his friends were very put out by the horse...people.”

Warlock nodded. The room was still spinning slightly, and he nearly fell over when he reached for his laptop. He fumbled with the lid, then opened his browser and began typing away. “Where was Adam from?”

Aziraphale paused mid-bite. “Tadfield, delightful place when the world isn’t ending. You were born there too, actually. Satanic nuns as midwives! Can you believe such a thing?”

Warlock frowned, then shrugged, scrolling down the results. How many Adam Youngs lived in England? He paused on a picture. The location was right, and the man certainly had curly hair, He was handsome like an old Hollywood actor with an easy smile, piercing, knowing eyes. “Hey Aziraphale, is this him?”

The angel glanced at the screen, made an effort to focus, and nodded. “It’s him.” He sat his plate down and moved towards Warlock. “Are there any more pictures?” he asked curiously.

He nodded, scrolling through the pictures he’d posted. “He has a cute dog.”

“That my dear Warlock, is a hellhound. I suppose he is as long-lived as his master.”

Warlock winced. “I thought hellhounds would be bigger?”

“Not always, do you remember Rover?”

He did remember Rover; the thing was a menace - all teeth and snapping jaws. Rover was the sole reason he hated dogs. He grimaced. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Ah, it seems the plan worked…just not on the right boy. He _was_ a bit snippy…”

Warlock glared.

“So, can you contact him through this book of faces?”

Warlock snapped his head towards the angel. “It’s Facebook, Aziraphale. We’ve gone over this.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him and grinned teasingly. “Facebook, of course.”

The man sniggered and elbowed the angel, shaking his head. “I’ve sent him a friend request and a message with my phone number to call. We’ll see if he responds.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Thank you, dear.”

Warlock had fallen into an uneasy rest while Aziraphale sat watch in the tiny living room that had been his home for the past four days. He’d been obsessively checking the phone and computer for any sign Adam had been in contact. Eventually, he put the electronics away and began to flip through a well-loved copy of _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_. It brought a smile to the Angel’s face. The novel had been a gift from him when Warlock was just seven. 

The next day brought a call from Adam Young. 

After an awkward greeting between Adam and Warlock, Aziraphale spoke with him for a while on Warlock’s phone. Warlock tried his best to hear what was being said without being too obvious, but as Aziraphale kept shooing him away with a pointed look. 

“Goodbye, Adam. I look forward to seeing you shortly, of course. Goodbye.” Aziraphale closed the phone and set it on the table. “He should be here this afternoon.”

Warlock nodded, panic rising at the thought of the antichrist visiting his shabby little flat. He drummed his fingers on the table, a nervous tick he’d picked up from Nanny, while he chewed on his lip. 

“Warlock? What’s the matter?”

“What if he decides to do something? He could hurt us, Aziraphale. The antichrist is the son of Satan, destroyer of worlds. He’s really just going to come have a chat over tea and biscuits?”

Aziraphale frowned. “he was a very nice boy when I met him before. Besides, he worked quite hard to keep the world from ending and denounced his infernal father. And he was very polite over the phone just now.”

“If he’s the antichrist, what exactly does that mean? You said he has powers, or at least he did?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Then what is he? He can’t be human.”

“Not exactly. I suppose he would be a Nephilim. Or perhaps not… he’s... different. Human, but infernal. The son of Satan, but also the culmination of humanity, in all its worst and best. Thankfully, he grew up in an abnormally normal environment. In the end, he made the choice to side with humanity.”.

Warlock frowned. “Can we really trust him, Aziraphale? What if he’s working for _them_?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I truly don’t believe he is, Warlock.”

Warlock nodded as he bit his lip nervously. “Aziraphale?”

“Hm?” asked the angel. 

“You said he grew up in a normal environment. A human family?”

“I did.”

“Does that mean…” he swallowed. “you thought I wouldn’t have made the same choice?” he asked, hurt lacing his words.

Aziraphale looked away. “We had hoped you would, you could be quite the hellion as a child you know. Truthfully, Crowley had been relieved when we realized it wasn’t you. You know he cared for you quite a bit? He was so terribly proud of you, went on for hours when you learned to ride a bike. Burst with pride the first time you stepped on a spider.”

Warlock smiled at the memory. The day he’d learned to ride his bike had been a memory that he kept close to his heart. He’d fallen several times; the bike had been a gift for his eighth birthday and his father had promised to teach him. Warlock had waited nearly a month, asking his father every day, before getting on it to teach himself. Nanny had only watched him fall once before stepping in and holding the bike upright until he got it right. She’d taken him for ice cream in her old Bentley that afternoon as a reward. Mr. Francis had joined them to eat his own sundae, and Nanny’s too.

Warlock glanced up at Aziraphale. Regardless of what happened, he’d do his best to find his old Nanny. He’d never been in love, but if someone did to him what had been done to Aziraphale and Nanny, he’d hope someone would help him find his way back.

“So, when will he get here?”


	11. Chapter 11

Adam had texted him a few minutes before his arrival to let him know he’d be seeing them shortly. 

Aziraphale had worriedly suggested a pot of tea and ushered Warlock out of the room and into the kitchen. Making tea was a soothing routine. It kept his hands busy and mind occupied while he waited on Adam. They’d spoken a few times since his first call, mostly to clarify how to find the right entrance to his building and suggestions on where to park. Adam did seem to be a nice person - thoughtful and calm.

He had just poured the water into a rather battered teapot when Adam texted, he was just outside. As he took the steps towards his door, he couldn’t help but think how strange this whole situation was. Here he was, playing host to an actual angel and the Antichrist; he still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around that part.

Adam stepped in as he opened the door, greeting him with a nod and curt smile.

“Aziraphale’s in the living room,” he said with a soft smile. Adam nodded as he followed the other man. Somehow, Adam wasn’t what Warlock had expected. Attractive in a wholesome, classic film kind of way. He had an air about him: comforting, calm, but with an underlying sense of power, an almost magnetic pull that made Warlock wonder if perhaps that was part of his abilities at the Antichrist.

“Adam! So good to see you!” said Aziraphale. Despite his cheerful demeanor, Warlock could tell by the way he was tugging at his waistcoat he was nervous. It only increased Warlock’s worry.

Adam looked around the room coolly, arms folded across his chest with an eyebrow raised. “Now that I’m here, will you explain why you saw fit to get in touch with me now?”

Before Aziraphale could launch into an explanation, Warlock interrupted. “I’m just going to go check the tea, won’t be a moment.”

“Of course, don’t forget the biscuits!” Aziraphale looked intently at Adam. “I need your help; I know there is no reason at all for you to help me, but I fear I have nowhere else to turn.”

Adam glanced around. “Where is your demon friend? I figured he’d be here.”

“He’s… well, he’s gone.” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “I didn’t want to say much over the phone, but he was taken. We both were, I suppose. Adam I really must find him.”

Adam cocked his head. “what will I get out of this? ...If I help you?”

“What do you want dear?” 

Adam tapped “Answers. I want someone to finally give me some answers - explain why I have wings, why I can do the things I can do. I know what I am, but I don’t understand why I am still like this. I thought this part of me was taken when I renounced my father.”

Aziraphale looked surprised. “You grew wings?” he whispered. 

“I did, when I was in secondary school and it hurt too—terrified dog. Thank someone Mum and Dad were away visiting Sarah.”

Aziraphale gasped, “Oh dear, that must have been quite the ordeal…”

“I—I just want to know what I am, for someone teach me how to control things. I get angry and things happen, weather patterns change around me. It’s inconvenient, never sure if watching a sad video will result in the sudden need for an umbrella or how to know if people like me or if I’m just influencing them that way.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale stood, reaching a hand out towards the boy. “Of course, I will help you… but we truly need to find Crowley. Would you help us?”

“Shake on it?” Adam reached out for his hand. “I will help you find Crowley.” He gasped as their hands began to glow, dark and light mingling together. 

“And Warlock, we must keep him safe.” urged Aziraphale. 

He nodded. “And Warlock.”

In the kitchen, Warlock was having his own personal crisis about the situation. 

He had an angel and the antichrist in his living room. Aziraphale was one thing, he’d known him when he was little, but the antichrist? The antichrist, who his Nanny and the gardener had believed him to be. The only reason he’d had Nanny or Aziraphale in his life, to begin with, was because of who they thought he was. Now, he had somehow agreed to help find his long-lost nanny. 

When exactly did his life get this complicated?

Warlock took a deep, calming breath. Aziraphale was practically family; he’d raised him right alongside Nanny. There was no use in letting his anxieties take over, not when there was so much to do.

He took his time getting tea together to allow them time to speak without him around. He gathered his three best mugs and the pot, a bit of cream and sugar, and some of the sweets he’d purchased yesterday, before carrying the tray to where his guests sat. As he walked back into the room, he heard Aziraphale say, “…and then he can fix this. I know he can.”

“So, did you two get it worked out?” asked Warlock curiously. 

Adam shrugged. Aziraphale nodded.

“Adam still has most of his powers. He just doesn’t use them often. He has agreed to help boost the bond between us. If nothing else, it should give us a general idea where Crowley is.”

“Makes sense, when are you going to try it?” Warlock asked, though privately Adam thought that it only made as much sense as everything else and raised his mug to his lips. 

Adam suggested, “After tea?” He took a sip and grinned at him. “For an American, it’s not half bad.”

Warlock spluttered into his cup, turning red as he did so. “Thanks, er… Nanny taught me. Sorry. Crowley, I mean?”

“One and the same, dear.”

Warlock made an attempt at a smile as he drained the last of the liquid. “So, what do we need to do this - whatever you’re doing?”

Aziraphale bit into a biscuit. “a bed would be ideal, somewhere Adam and I both can rest comfortably and concentrate. A sofa won’t do - I’ll need room to stretch my wings.”

He felt heat rising to his ears again. “you’re gonna use my bedroom?”

Adam chuckled as he typed something on his phone. 

“Precisely, as yours is the only bed here.”

Warlock grimaced. “ _Wonderful_.”


	12. Chapter 12

An hour later found the trio crammed into the tiny, messy space that was Warlock’s bedroom. He had laundry piled in the corner and an old Doctor Who poster hanging over his bed. Most of his furniture was second hand and he worried Aziraphale would mention something about his lumpy IKEA mattress. He knew it wasn’t much to look at, but it was his, and hard-earned. “Sorry about the mess, I didn’t expect to have company in my bedroom.” 

Adam was standing with his hands shoved firmly in his pockets, awkwardly looking around the room. He caught Warlock’s gaze, then nodded towards the poster and smiled. “I like Doctor Who too. I prefer the Ninth Doctor, myself.”

Warlock nodded, a hesitant grin emerging. “Never, ever skip Nine.” He was still uncertain about all of this, but he was quickly finding that he trusted Adam. He seemed to be genuine enough and he felt safe to trust—Aziraphale trusted him and that would have to be enough. He glanced over towards the angel and bit his lip. If this didn’t work—whatever it was they were planning on doing—they might never find Crowley. He felt a sudden, hopeless urge to go back to his old life, one without angels or demons or antichrists (or at least none he knew about). 

As Aziraphale tutted over the state of his bed, tucking sheets and blankets into place, Warlock met Adam’s eyes and said under his breath so the angel wouldn’t hear; “thank you for doing this.”

Adam shrugged.

“Well, best get to it,” said Aziraphale to the two men standing nearby. Bedclothes in order, he was back to fidgeting with his waistcoat buttons. 

“What do you need me to do?” Warlock asked.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. “Perhaps just stay here in case we need you?” He turned to Adam. “I’ve found I have an easier time manifesting my power with my wings on this plane. It would perhaps be helpful for you as well?” 

“Sure,” he replied, “when we’re situated?”

Aziraphale nodded before climbing onto the bed—still sitting up with Adam facing him, sitting stiffly at his hip. 

The angel sighed as feathers suddenly appeared behind him, he rolled his shoulders and maneuvered into a prone position. “Bit cramped in here,” he said as his left wing knocked over an old water glass sitting on the bedside table. 

“It’s alright, just a spill,” said Warlock as he scrambled for the towel hanging on the back of his door to mop it up with, cheeks burning. He was curious how Aziraphale kept his massive wings hidden. When they weren’t visible, where did they go? He went to pick up the fallen glass right when Adam unfurled his massive wingspan; the tips of his black feathers brushed against his face and caused Warlock to stumble backward in surprise. Adam turned briefly to raise an eyebrow at him and wink.

Warlock mumbled an apology and moved to lean against the dresser, folding his arms over his chest. “So just to make sure I’ve understood this, Adam is going to somehow boost your signal to find Nanny?”

Aziraphale nodded. “We were bonded you see before he fell. We could sense if the other was in danger or needed help…” He frowned, eyebrows creasing together. “But we could also sense one another's love, send flashes and sparks of what we felt for one another through the connection. If I was lost, he could find me. I wonder now if that’s how he always knew where to find me, even after…” 

“I don’t understand though, Aziraphale… If you were once linked, why aren’t you anymore? Why can’t you feel him without Adam’s help?” Warlock asked, tugging at his shirt nervously.

“It’s there, I believe a part of it has always been there my dear. Though it’s been weakened. I’m sure whatever it was that Gabriel did to close off the connection has something to do with it. Now that I remember it’s there, I can feel it, but it’s so very weak.” 

“How cruel,” said Warlock.

Aziraphale huffed. “Warlock, Heaven has always been a cruel place. Their rules are made to be followed and if you don’t... God was not the one who punished us this time, but the Archangels who acted on their own will. ”

Warlock made a sound of sympathy.

Adam looked nonplussed, though, and asked: “how do I begin the connection?” 

“Right. Did you know Adam, that ethereal beings can communicate telepathically?”

He shook his head. 

“Let me see your hands, dear. It’s easier this way when you’re learning. Once we have connected, think of the connection as a doorway into my mind. Step inside and I will be able to show you what to do. You can break the connection whenever you like, but try not to do it too quickly, otherwise, it will give us both a terrible headache” Aziraphale said.

Aziraphale took Adam’s hands and placed them at the sides of his head. “Remember, like a doorway.”

“Got it,” replied Adam as he closed his eyes, and after several breaths, observed “It’s fuzzy… bright like static.”

“Nearly there, now imagine you are at a doorway. You can do it, Adam.”

Adam nodded

The next few moments were quiet, Warlock watching intently as Adam and Aziraphale worked to make contact. Adam, he could tell by the expressions flitting across his features, was having some difficulty

“Oh!” gasped Adam, “Hel-lo. That’s weird.”

“Do you feel that?” asked Aziraphale.

He nodded. “Yeah… I think so. That’s you? I follow that?”

“Mm. It will feel strange at first, but that’s the connection I need to draw from your reserves… it won’t be much, I just need a boost.”

Warlock bit his thumbnail, from the outside it looked as if nothing was happening at all. 

Five minutes passed, then ten. 

Each second ticked by like an eternity before something began to happen. The hair on his arms stood on end as tendrils of light began to creep from their pores. 

It was eerie to watch. Adam held his fingertips against Aziraphale’s temples, his eyes glowing a flaming red behind his eyelids. Warlock could feel some kind of energy rolling off him in waves. His mind was telling him to run but the heat of his power was familiar, enticing. His back started to prickle, and he broke into a sweat.

Adam’s midnight wings began to glow, each dark feather edged in a swirling of green and purple flames. Aziraphale too was bathed in golden, coruscating light. Warlock watched in awe as the light danced across the white canvas of his wings. 

As time passed, the glow around them intensified. Warlock was mesmerized, frozen in place as swirls of purple and green floated across Adam’s dark wingspan, down his arms, and onto Aziraphale’s skin, where they shimmered, eddied, and seeped into Aziraphale’s own golden energy.

Three hours had passed without so much as a word from either of the ethereal beings in his bedroom. His legs had long grown tired from standing, and he was sweating like he’d been running the whole time, but he was too worried to leave. He’d grown comfortable with Aziraphale’s energy, at least, realizing it reminded him a bit of his childhood. How often had they used their power around him, on him? Why was it such a familiar feeling? 

Warlock was pulled from his musings when Adam shook his head and ruffled his wings, then stood up to stretch out his sore limbs. Turning to look at Warlock with a tired grin, Adam said, “He’s in America. Somewhere.”

Aziraphale was slowly coming to, he sat up and stretched. He was smiling, a truly joyous smile, one that reminded him so very much of Brother Francis. Minus the bad teeth, he used to always smile like that at Nanny. Warlock felt a pang of sadness wash over him; it wasn’t fair how long they’d been separated. 

He thought of Crowley, alone in America of all places. He’d moved to South Carolina when he was eleven and had hated every moment of it. “America is a big place, any idea where?”

“No dear, just a general area. We didn’t get anything back from Crowley at all. I’d hoped, but it seems whatever is blocking our bond is still in place.” 

Adam yawned. “Before we continue, I could murder some chips—and anything with caffeine.” 

Warlock glanced at the two, deciding they likely needed time to decompress, he offered to get dinner. “You two rest, my legs are stiff. Help yourself to coffee or whatever is in the kitchen and I’ll go pick up some food. I could use the walk.”

Thirty minutes later, Warlock was heading back from the chippy down the street from his flat. He was glad to have the chance to leave the flat for a bit and breathe. So much had happened since he’d walked into A.Z. Fell & Co. four days before.

Today had been trying for them all, Aziraphale especially. He could tell the angel had grown weary, he did well at hiding it, except when he thought nobody was looking. He should be worried; he’d called in sick to work and skipped all of his classes since he’d found Aziraphale. But he had bills to pay and assignments due. He had effectively put his life on hold for them and he hoped it paid off. He supposed he could put in for a leave of absence at school, claim he was sick or had a family emergency. His boss already didn’t seem to believe that he was still sick, or maybe he didn’t care. Either way, he’d likely need to find a new job. 

Maybe Aziraphale would hire him? He laughed at that--the angel had zero interest in selling his books. 

His mind turned towards Crowley, his long-lost Nanny. Apparently, she ended up in America just like him. How close had she been? Warlock needed to find her nearly as badly as Aziraphale, but for a bleak moment, he wondered if she would even care? She had meant the world to him. Regardless of what had happened to him since; Coraline Ashtoreth and Francis Fell had been there for him, made him the man he was today.

He unlocked the door and made the trek to the fourth floor; he should ask Adam or Aziraphale to fix the lift for him before they left. He balanced the food on his hip as he unlocked and pushed open his door. “It’s me,” he said loudly, walking into the living room. They were both propped in their seats discussing Crowley’s location.

He noticed they’d found one of his old maps and had been circling areas of interest, which, from where he was standing, looked to be most of the southern states. If that were the case, they’d been close by. Why hadn’t he reached out to them when his father ran for the House? When everything had gone to hell with his parents’ very public divorce? It was a bitter pill to swallow. 

Aziraphale gave a friendly wave and beckoned him to come and sit beside him before turning towards Adam, “It’s by the sea, I’m sure of that. I could smell the ocean. Perhaps Florida or Alabama? 

Adam points. “I don’t think it was that far south.”

“Not Florida then?”

“No, and you’re certain he didn’t notice the bond at all?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve told you, Adam, it was blocked. It felt… dark. Didn’t you notice?”

“I don’t think so, I couldn’t really smell or feel anything other than you.”

Warlock cleared his throat. “Er, food,” he said holding up the bag. He glanced curiously again at the ma., “You said you think he’s in Florida?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Not Florida, but somewhere close along the coast.”

“You know, my mom’s from South Carolina. We used to visit the coast all the time once we moved back. Did you see or hear anything? The coastal regions are pretty distinct, so we could use that to our advantage.”

His eyes snapped up. “Boats! Big boats, you could hear them!” He looked at Adam. “Did you notice them?”

Adam shook his head, watching as Warlock leaned over the map they’d been dissecting.

Warlock plucked the marker from Adam’s hand and removed the cap. “There are a few ports along the coast. You said no to Florida?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“If you had to guess, where would you put him? That leaves Virginia, North and South Carolina and Georgia.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, “I don’t think he’s in Virginia… it feels too far away from where we were sensing him.”

“Right.” Warlock chewed on the end of the pen. “Charleston was fairly important and has a large Port… but Savannah does too. There are a few along the coast in North Carolina, Wilmington and Morehead. Then, Brunswick, I believe in Georgia, but the two largest are Charleston and Savannah. Did you see or hear anything else?” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes “I heard seagulls and smelled…” 

“What did you smell?”

“Sea air, salty but like sulfur…” murmured the angel.

“Probably Charleston or Savannah, then. Why would he choose to go there Aziraphale?”

He shook his head, “My dear, I don’t know.”

Adam tapped thoughtfully against his temple. “So chances are, we go there, and we find your missing demon?”

Aziraphale looked hopeful. “I believe so, this is…” He took a steadying breath; they were so close. “…thank you. Both of you.” He met Warlock's eyes and smiled the first genuine smile he’d seen since they met again. “Now, let’s eat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write. I didn't have to give Adam wings but I'm glad I did.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a section of this chapter that skips a bit, little snippets of time passing as they get ready to leave. It was suggested I use page breaks or something to show these are skips but as i've heard doing that can mess with accessibility aids, I'm going to use three spaces. If it needs to be changed, I will.

Adam had gone home for the night, promising to return the next afternoon, after he sorted out something about his dog, leaving Aziraphale and Warlock alone again in the tiny flat. 

Aziraphale was pretending to read, but Warlock could tell he was being watched. He knew the angel had something on his mind, by the way his hands were tapping at the book and how he couldn’t seem to stop tugging at his clothes. Warlock stretched sleepily from his seat, turning to sit facing the angel.

Aziraphale looked up, bone-weary but hopeful, and said, “Warlock, I just wanted to thank you for your help. Without you...,” 

Warlock shrugged, waved off the praise. He wanted to say more, to tell Aziraphale how much he’d meant to him, how important he became once he moved back to America and had to deal with his parents and their oppressive behavior. How when he was a teenager, he would pretend in his room that Mr. Francis and Nanny were his parents; after all, they’d raised him until he was nearly eleven. There was so much he still wanted to say, to ask, and all he could muster was, “I- you… it’s fine.”

Aziraphale eyed him warily. “Warlock, I have known you for much of your life and you have never been able to hide your emotions particularly well.” 

He glanced down into his lap, his fingers twining together nervously. “I…” he started weakly. 

“Warlock, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just. Just tired. And worried—about you and Nanny, about my job and school. What if they find out you’re here? You’ve warded the place, but we can’t stay here forever. What if they come to the shop and find you’ve gone?” There was more of course, but he wasn’t ready to voice those thoughts, perhaps once things had settled. It made him feel like a child again, confessing his fears to Brother Francis who would soothe him with a hug and a biscuit, telling him some odd parable before sending him off. 

“There is no need for you to worry about the status of your home or of your education. As for myself and Crowley, it will be fine dear, I promise. No need to worry. As you said the other night, we have faith it will work in the end.” Aziraphale pulled his mouth into a thin line. “I think I might try to sleep tonight if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, alright. Do you want the bed?”

“No, I’ll be fine here, dear.”

Warlock stood and walked towards his bedroom before turning to nod at the angel. “Goodnight Aziraphale.”

Despite his promise, Aziraphale didn’t sleep. Warlock was right, and of course, he was, he’s a brilliant human. Always had been too smart for his own good, Warlock. 

Laying on the sofa and trying to sleep, he decided that he would help them plan, then back out at the last minute. He’d rarely been away from his home for so long in the last few hundred years, and it felt strange to be cooped up in this little room, without any of his comforts to keep him company. He felt so lonely once the bedroom light turned off, feeling Crowley’s absence more acutely than ever. 

Adam returned the next afternoon and a plan began to take form. Adam and Warlock would sleuth things out; play detective and try to find him without the aid of their powers. Warlock was right, too much power could draw attention and Aziraphale wasn’t sure how they hadn’t noticed the demonic energy being channeled through their agent on earth. 

Things were looking up, however planning for their international investigation was riddled with misunderstandings…

“Oh dear, it seems my passport has expired.”

Warlock took it from Aziraphale—Adam standing over his shoulder, as he grabbed the tattered book of stamps; eyes widening in shock at the date, 1916. “So, you still have your very first passport? Don’t you ever fly?”

The angel laughs. “Boys, I’ll have you know I fly often, but I rarely fly commercially.” He winked at Adam who chuckled. “And no, my first passport was from 1450, but I lost that one sometime during the Reign of Terror. It was in my coat pocket and it met with an unfortunate end.”

The two men glanced sideways at one another, “I’m afraid to ask,” Adam said as he grabbed the book from Warlock, turning it over in his hands. 

“Don’t they ever check it?” 

The angel sighed good-naturedly at Warlock. “Paperwork is less important when you can use a miracle. Humans typically see what I want them to see.”

Warlock had stumbled across their booking information while checking his emails. He blinked. Surely not? “Aziraphale, why are we booked at the Grand Bohemian?”

The angel had the decency to look embarrassed, “Perhaps a Marriott then?”

It ended up being neither; much to Aziraphale’s dismay. 

And later, after Warlock and Adam found themselves entirely in agreement on one point in particular; that Aziraphale needed a phone.

Aziraphale looked at the device in his palm with distaste. “Must I use this cellular phone? I have a perfectly good line at the shop.”

Warlock ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Aziraphale, you’re not going to be at your shop when we are in the States. What if we get seperated? What if you need to get in touch with us quickly?”

He frowned in reply. 

Adam was checking bags and making a list of things they would need to pick up once they reached the States. Aziraphale had yet to pack anything. “Do we need to pack you a bag?”

“Whatever for?”

Warlock chuckled at them from across the room as Adam ran a hand down his face.

“For clothes Aziraphale,” responded Adam with a huff. 

“Oh, no. This is quite alright; I love this suit!”

“We’ll have to get Dog food once we reach the States, he should be fine to fly though.”

Warlock frowned, “You’re bringing your dog?”

“His name is Dog, and yes.”

He pinched his nose and sighed.

Adam raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re not scared of Dog, are you? Wouldn’t hurt a fly… well, unless I asked him to.” Adam ruffled Dog’s ears, and the grimace on Warlock’s face made him laugh. “He’s a good mutt, hellhound or not. Real smart! And I thought he could help us. He has a good nose on him, could alert us to angels or demons… maybe even protect us if it comes to that.”

Warlock searched his eyes. “Alright… I’ve just not had the best experience with dogs, er, hellhounds actually. Nanny had one that was a right terror.”

“Ah, well, I’m sure he’ll grow on you...”

“You booked us first-class?” asked Adam the day of the trip. They were leaving late-or very early, depending on how you looked at it. He was looking through the boarding passes Aziraphale had handed him as Warlock dragged his bag downstairs and into the cab waiting for them. A look of confusion crossed his features and he looked up at Aziraphale to ask, “You’re not coming with us, are you?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I never travel, and if I were to be seen near where Gabriel knows Crowley has been living, well, what would Heaven think? It’s not safe, I’m already putting the both of you at risk as it is. No, I’m putting my trust in your hands once again, Adam Young. I will forever be in your debt.”

“Does he know?”

Aziraphale nodded his head. “I told him earlier, he said he understands, but he wasn’t pleased.” He handed Adam a string-bound envelope thick with papers. “Take this, keep it safe. I made you several wards—hang them in your rooms, if things become dangerous—and if a demon or angel finds you, contact me immediately. I know that you can protect yourself…”

“...but he can’t,” answered Adam.

He pulled his mouth into a tight smile. “No, but you can trust him. He’s special, Adam, in ways I’m still not sure of. If he was somehow able to break me free of this prison, I believe he could do the same for Crowley.”

Adam sighed and tucked the envelope into his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder. Aziraphale assured him he could lock the door after they left—key or no key—and they joined Warlock at the curb. 

“Warlock dear, the two of you need to get going.”

He nodded, concern lacing his features. “You told him?”

“I did - it’s safer if I stay in my shop. I’ll be fine, made of tougher things. I’ve survived worse.”

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “I… keep your phone on you, alright?”

Warlock looked at Adam, then to Aziraphale, “What if he doesn’t recognize us? Or worse, doesn’t believe us?” 

Aziraphale stood up. “He loved you, he’d never admitted it - love’s not exactly something demons are supposed to do - but he did, it was unmistakable. He will believe you, Warlock.” He swallowed hard and took Warlock’s hands into his own. “Please, stay safe.” 

He squeezed back. “I’ll try.”

After, Aziraphale grabbed Adam’s shoulder and squeezed, before squaring his shoulders and nudging them towards the waiting cab, the driver simply impatient to leave. 

Warlock looked at Adam, Dog nestled between them in the back seat. “We can do this… can't we?” 

“Aziraphale believes we can… and so do I.” Adam reassured him. “We’ve checked and double-checked everything. Let’s go.” 

Too antsy to sleep, despite the comfort of their first-class seats, they’d spent most of that time talking, and Warlock found Adam to be funnier than he’d realized when they were so busy planning with Aziraphale. He told him about growing up, The Them, about his nosey neighbor R.P. Tyler and how summers seemed so much better as a child. In return, Warlock told Adam about growing up with Crowley as his Nanny and Aziraphale as his eccentric gardener--about sister slug and how he was certain they were magic, even then. About his father’s run for the Senate and of how much he enjoyed learning and teaching. By the time they landed at Charleston International Airport thirteen hours later, Warlock felt he could call Adam his friend. 

The two men were both exhausted and hungry--even Dog seemed weary from the trip.

They’d left the airport in a rental; Dog happily barking in the backseat, glad to finally be out of the kennel and free to do as he pleased again. 

“Pull in here, we can get coffee and a decent breakfast,” Warlock said, pointing at the blocked-yellow sign. It had been too long since he'd last had a pecan waffle and was excited to show Adam the simple joy of a waffle and a plate of hashbrowns smothered and covered. 

“Waffles?” asked Adam, as he made a sharp left into the parking lot of a Waffle House. 

“Mm, the best.”

After Warlock introduced Adam to the wonders of Waffle House, they arrived at the hotel: a Hyatt in the Historical district, where they checked in and lugged their bags to their room. 

Two double beds, nothing spectacular, but it would be a comfortable place to rest, nonetheless. Dog barked happily as he jumped onto one of the beds, turning around in circles several times before laying down.

Warlock walked to the ensuite fridge, taking the bottle of water off the top and drinking it down quickly. He frowned, “Adam, do you think this will end well? I mean, I hope it does… but there are a lot of ways things could go wrong and I get the feeling there’s a lot that I don’t know.”

Adam glanced up at him. “You’re right, you need to know more.” He frowned from his spot on the bed next to Dog and stood to dig in the bag Aziraphale gave him. “I should hang these first, they are similar to the wards Aziraphale ah... decorated your flat with. He was sure I wouldn’t need them, said if I’d not been found by now, then I should be fine… but you on the other hand, well, better to be safe.”

Warlock bit his lip. “But that’s not all, is it? He refused to explain to me last night why he wasn’t coming. Just kept saying it was for the best.”

Adam clasped his hands behind his neck. “Aziraphale thinks the angels are aware he’s figured it out. If not, they will soon, once we find Crowley. He’s sure you’re the key to it, since you made him remember, and he thinks you can make Crowley remember too.” 

Warlock sat on the bed, looking down at his feet. It doesn’t feel real, he’d never been brave or adventurous. He’d always taken the safest route when he could, this entire situation was so unlike anything he’d ever done. He’d known Adam for nearly a week and a half. It felt like longer, much longer really. How many days had passed since Aziraphale returned to his life? “Why are you doing this, Adam? What’s in it for you? I know why I am; they were more like a family to me than my own. My family… my dad. He’s in politics, you’ve probably heard of him… but he’s not nice, never was.” He closed his eyes tightly; hot tears threatening to fall if he dared open them. “But Crowley, Nanny, I mean… she was really nice. Her and Brother Francis, they were all I had as a kid, you know? I keep asking myself why I’ve put my life on hold for this but it’s because when it’s all been too much, sometimes I’d think of them and it wouldn’t be as bad.” Ugh, that’s just what I get for bringing this up on so little sleep, he thought. 

Adam nodded grimly. “I—I understand… sometimes your family isn’t related by blood. It’s admirable you’re doing this, and you’re right.” He sighed, running a hand through his messy blond curls. “I am in this for something. They know what I am, or better than I do, anyway, and I have so many questions Warlock, some that I'm scared to find the answer to. Once we’ve done this; help them find each other, that is, Aziraphale promised to answer them the best he could.”

Warlock leaned forward and nodded, thoughtful. 

Adam grew quiet for a moment,. “I’ve never wanted the world to end you know? But I’m always so scared that something I do is going to call the Horsemen back. I can do anything I want; really, I can. Anything I want could be mine, but that’s not important to me. I do things without meaning to. I can’t tell if someone likes me for me, or if it’s the odd pull I have on people.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t turn out to be the antichrist and I haven’t known you long, but I can’t imagine you ending the world.”

“Well, let’s hope not,” Adam tossed his backpack under the desk and moved to sit beside Warlock. “Aziraphale said Crowley was once the Archangel of Healing, said if anyone knew how Heaven did this, it would be him. 

“Oh hey! That explains why I never seemed to stay sick as a kid. When I was eight, I was certain I'd broken my arm. But when Nanny found me crying in the garden, she snapped at Francis and took me into her arms. When I stopped crying, it was as if nothing had happened. The pain was gone, and my arm was back to normal again.”

Adam shook his head. “I broke my arm when I was nine, it was horrible. Itches I couldn’t scratch and no swimming in the pond the whole summer.”

“That’s awful, you—not being able to swim, for a whole summer?” Warlock said with a teasing grin. 

“Says the kid with the magic Nanny.” He chuckled, running his hand through his hair, a nervous habit Warlock had noticed. “I can’t believe I’m in the States—with the not antichrist.”

Warlock laughed dryly. “I can’t believe I’m in America with the I grew up here; well, about 3 hours from here. After we left London. Dad grew up in Anderson, it only made sense for him to come back.” 

Adam had Googled Warlock Dowling after getting his initial message. He’d found more than enough articles on Thaddeus Dowling’s scandals to get a pretty decent picture of what his Dad was like. He couldn’t imagine turning out the way Warlock did with a family like that. It made sense as to why he was so eager to find Crowley and to help the angel. “Maybe while we are here, you can show me around? Didn’t you say your Mum was from here?”

“Yeah, she is.”

They sat silent while Dog on the bed across from them licked at his paw. Adam glanced sideways at the other man, despite his height, he seemed small, collapsed in. Like he was trying to crawl into himself, perhaps away from the painful memories. He reached across the few inches between them, wrapping his fingers around Warlock’s hand and squeezed. “We can do this, you and Aziraphale will have Crowley back. And I’ll get my answers.”

Warlock squeezed back. “I just want them to be happy,” a pause, “and you too.” 


	14. Chapter 14

The first day in Charleston was utterly unproductive. Tired and disoriented from their trip, both Adam and Warlock slept on and off throughout the day while searching a now-familiar map for potential places to search. 

Aziraphale called while they were at lunch. “How was the flight?” he fluttered, and “Are the accommodations to your liking?” he queried and “Adam, can you feel anything?"

He was a mess of nervous chatter and once they’d each explained that yes, they were using the wards, and no, they hadn’t noticed any signs of demons or angels yet, the duo didn’t hear from him again until the next evening. 

Later that day, over burgers and fries, Warlock explained “No, here they’re fries, Adam. They’re only chips in England. Also, I think we need a code.”

He raised an eyebrow at the other man, “For what?”

“What if an angel shows up? Or a demon?” he asked. 

Adam nodded and bit his lip in concentration. “I don’t know what we would say, that wouldn’t be obvious.”

Warlock asked, “What about something nonverbal?”

Adam considered, and asked “What- what about if we pretend we’re a couple?” 

Warlock blinked but collected himself enough to say “Sure, yeah. That’s easy enough, so we just... hold onto each other if they decide to do anything.”

Adam fought back a slight blush, then nodded. “Alright.”

They wandered the city the next morning, without noticing any sort of demonic presence. 

“What sort of place would a demon like in Charleston?” asked Warlock curiously, as he picked at the bagel he’d gotten for breakfast. 

Adam shrugged. “You’re more familiar with the place, but maybe start near the port?”

“Sure.”

They didn’t have any better luck the next day. 

Staring at the map that morning, Warlock asked “Think he could be on one of the islands? Aziraphale said he liked to stir up mischief, maybe he’s there?” 

That afternoon, Adam ripped the pink ticket from off their windshield. “A parking ticket? The tire isn’t even all the way on the pavement! What do they want us to do? Fall in the ditch? Ugh.” 

Warlock laughed, at ease except for the undercurrent of guilt. There had been no sign of Crowley at any of the places they’d been so far and had stopped for a bite to eat at a local favorite; Poe’s Tavern. 

“Here, pose for a picture in front of the sign for Aziraphale. what a weird place!”

The third day went much the same as the previous one. 

“Where the hell can you park here?” asked Warlock, as he tried and failed to find a place to leave their rental for the day.

“It’s haunted...by a dog?” Warlock asked skeptically, eyes flitting from side-to-side. “Gives me the heebie-jeebies, that does.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Dog will protect you from the ghost dog. You were raised by a demon and you’re scared of a little phantom pooch?”

“Well, I didn’t know she was a demon at the time,” he snipped. 

Adam turned to Dog and dropped him a piece of chicken from his plate. “You’ll protect us from Poogan, won’t you boy? Yes, you will!” said Adam in a good-humored cajoling voice then winked at Warlock. 

Dog replied with a wag of his tail and an excited woof, his eyes flashing red as he danced on his hind legs for more chicken.

Warlock frowned, shoving a fry into his mouth. He really preferred cats - occult or otherwise. 

That night, while exploring along the Isle of Palm, feet sinking into the sand, the salty breeze blowing their hair into a wild disarray, playing tourists more than anything else, a storm blew in. A massive, raging thunderstorm swept suddenly in over the waves, which rose into alarming crests, chasing Adam and Warlock back across the dunes. Thunder shook the earth as sheets of rain battered the coast. 

“We’re gonna get killed, Adam. We’re never going to make it back to the car in one piece!” half-screamed Warlock as he glanced between Dog and Adam. 

Adam’s hair was flat to his skull, dripping wet into his determined eyes, clothes sticking to him as the rain fell around them. He laughed, threw his head back and chuckled, belly-deep and loud. 

Lightning struck not fifteen yards away, a thunderous boom cracking across the sky, sending Warlock’s heart into pounding disarray. 

“Adam!” cried Warlock, electricity prickled at his skin causing goosebumps to rise over his arms and neck. 

Adam tilted his head then slowly held out his hand, palm up. “Let’s go, you’ll be fine as long as you’re with me,” he answered calmly. 

Warlock glanced at the now-familiar open hand with his eyebrows knitted together before nodding and reaching back. 

Palm to palm, treading in sync, the two men hurried back to the car with Dog running ahead of them, yipping loudly as if he were on a chase. 

It was once they’d reached the car and got in that Warlock realized he had been completely dry since he’d touched Adam’s hand. In his moment of panic, he’d never considered that Adam would keep him safe. 

By the time their fourth day in Charleston rolled around, Warlock and Adam were both convinced that they were in the wrong city. 

On their way out that morning, they stopped for coffee at a Starbucks. In between bites of a wholly unappetizing breakfast sandwich, Warlock suggested, “We should go to the Battery.”

Adam nodded from his place in the passenger seat, “Think it would be somewhere he’d go?”

Warlock shook his head, “No, but it’s a cool place. They used to hang pirates there and you mentioned the other day that you thought they were cool. I don’t think we’re going to find him here. Probably should think about leaving early.”

They were standing against the railing bordering the ocean while Warlock pointed out the historical significance of the island across from them when he felt a suspicious itch. 

Adam had realized quite by accident after his eleventh birthday that he could easily notice when demons were nearby. Typically, they were curious. They never stayed long and were fairly easy to frighten. He frowned, it wasn’t close enough to cause concern but there was something demonic nearby.

He smiled at Warlock, he was pointing out something as he lectured, squinting against the sun but smiling widely nonetheless. 

The feeling dissipated. Maybe they were close to a portal, he thought, before turning his attention to a brief history of the Battery. 

Once they left, Warlock suggested trying the downtown area once more before leaving for the other city. There was a commercial dock not far from downtown they had noticed before. The Charleston City Market was a perfectly touristy spot, but still full of treasures to uncover and explore. 

Warlock snorted, then walked over to pick up one very garish hat; feathers and all, before placing it atop Adam’s curls. He laughed then turned to put on an impressively large purple and green number. “This is terrible.” Then held up his phone to take a picture.

Adam rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry at him. 

They had walked from Meeting Street to King Street when Adam felt that itch again, more oppressive-feeling this time. He noticed that Dog had perked up as well. His leash held tightly in one hand as his other reaching for Warlock’s hand causing him to startle. Adam frowned. They were being followed. 

Warlock stopped his chattering and glanced over at Adam.

Adam made no acknowledgment other than a slight squeeze of his hand. 

He didn’t let go, lingered shoulder to shoulder with until he was certain the demon was gone, pointedly not facing in their direction. But he knew what he’d seen. 

An hour later, they were seated in a trendy little coffee shop they’d decided to take a break in. 

“We better scoot if we get to the hotel by five, I bet we could make it to Savannah by nine with plenty of time for dinner.” 

Adam laughed. “Scoot?” he teased before taking a sip of his coffee: black, four sugars. 

Warlock smacked his arm him playfully, “Shutup!” 

Adam opened his mouth to reply when he felt it again, stronger this time. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like it. Probably when he was a child. He glanced at Warlock who’d gone rigid in his seat, and Dog, who rose from his place under the table, a snarl at the ready. 

Warlock’s face was pale and his eyes were wide, as he stared out the window. Following his line of sight, Adam could see that a blond man was watching them, hair was matted to his face, skin unnaturally pale and filthy. His black eyes watched them curiously. Adam reached out to grasp Warlock’s hand. He smiled and waved, allowing his eyes to flash red briefly as their gaze locked.

The demon smirked, tipped his head and disappeared. 

Adam released Warlock’s hand and turned to his friend. “You recognized him, didn’t you?”

Warlock gulped, suddenly missing the grounding warmth of Adam’s hand. He swallowed hard as if trying to force down the memory of something horrible. 

“You may have been the Antichrist, Adam, but you forget, for eleven years they thought it was me...”

Adam nodded. 

“I met him once, right after my eleventh birthday. I thought he was a deranged, smelly archeologist. But then he started asking me these questions as if I was hearing voices in my head. He suddenly became so angry; he screamed and bit his finger. I’m not sure what happened next because the next moment an agent knocked me to the ground as other agents screamed orders.” He picked up his cup, swirling the sweet drink around than taking a sip with a sigh. “I used to have nightmares about him; until I was in my late teens, as if he was haunting me, taunting me for something beyond my control. I never could figure it out but now I know.”

Adam nodded then sighed. “We both were dragged into this, part of some dumb cosmic game. They wanted a war; they didn’t get it.” 

Warlock dragged a hand through his hair in concern. “Do you think they know? About… you know, that is?”

Adam looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t believe they do. Sometimes they seek me out, curious about what I look like or what I’m doing. I’ve never seen him before. We should probably mention it to Aziraphale.”

Warlock pursed his lips then looked down at his lap. “I’ve just realized something.”

“What?”

He tugged at his lip with his teeth “it’s just that, when you grabbed my hand earlier, right before that, I’d felt uneasy and today, right before....”

“You were raised around a demon and an angel, it would make sense you’d be able to sense them too.”

“But why don’t I feel that way around you? Around Nanny? Or even Aziraphale?” His eyes searched Adam’s earnestly. 

Adam shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m sorry. I would wager though it’s because they cared for you.”

Warlock frowned.

“As far as I’m concerned… I think it just may not work like that with me. A friend of mine says I don’t have an aura.”

“Oh, that’s… odd?”

“She’s a witch.”

“No, I mean it’s odd that you don’t have an aura.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Adam glanced over at his friend. “What about if we leave tomorrow? I want to call Aziraphale.”

Warlock nodded his agreement before gulping down the rest of his now-lukewarm latte. 

It was the morning of their fifth day in the city Warlock had affectionately started referring to as “Chucktown,” as the locals did. 

Adam had responded with a groan every time.

They’d spoken to Aziraphale the night before, explaining to him what had happened with the demon.

“Do you believe he knows what you’re doing there?”

Adam shook his head at the phone. “No, he seemed to be following us though.”

Aziraphale hummed in reply. “The way you described him sounds like one of the Dukes of Hell.”

He nodded, glancing at Warlock. “Should we be worried?”

“Possibly, they don’t usually come up here unless there is a reason, they may have figured it out.”

“Oh, that would be…”

“… Very bad. Adam?”

“Yes?”

“I know you planned to leave today but perhaps it would be best if you waited.”

Adam sighed. “We’ve been here for nearly a week, he’s not here.”

“You’re right, he’s likely not there but the other demon is. Best not give him a reason to suspect.”

Warlock was tapping his nose, listening to Aziraphale and Adam then sat up. “Aziraphale? What if it wasn’t a fluke? What if he was sent to keep an eye on us because they believed we knew something? What if Hell is working with Heaven on this?”

There was silence on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh. “It seems a possibility.” Aziraphale paused. “The execution didn’t work.”

Warlock gasped. “Execution?”

“Mm. After Adam didn’t end the world, our bosses were none too pleased. They tried to burn me in hellfire and Crowley in holy water—only we had a trick up our sleeves. What better way to be rid of us than to separate us and make us complacent? Too caught up in grief to interfere. I've been so focused on my grief that I've not paid any mind to the plans of Heaven.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Beelzebub was in their office playing candy crush when they were rudely interrupted. “Yes?”

“M’lord, our young master Adam was spotted today in Charleston canoodling,” informed Hastur with a sneer.

The Prince of Hell sighed. “Should we be concerned?”

He frowned. “Think he was just vacationing. Disgusting. Saw ‘em drinking…” - his face scrunched up in disgust, “…coffee.”

“Is that all?”

He rubbed his lip with the edge of his thumb. “He was with that Dowling boy, the one Crowley tricked us into thinking…”

Beelzebub pinched their nose. “… Yes. Thank you, Duke Hastur.”

He grunted but didn’t argue, turned around then made his way towards the break room.

Beelzebub groaned. 

There was a book in their desk, one that had remained locked tightly in a hidden drawer for nearly 20 years. It was easy enough to work, blank unless both parties were looking at it. Beelzebub closed their eyes, focusing hard on the tendril that still connected them to Gabriel. A few moments later, a blue-white glow briefly settled over the cover.

_ Adam Young was just spotted _ _ in proximity to the traitor. Will keep you informed. _

The slammed the book shut and shoved it into their desk without waiting for a reply. 

In a flat above his shop, a demon began to stir. The sun, as always, felt just off enough to be unsettling and a little too bright for his liking.

He stretched out his limbs, shutting his eyes tightly against the sun before turning over and throwing the blankets over his head. He sighed from underneath the blankets blinked in the darkness and pulled them tighter around him. He felt so cold inside. He rubbed at the spot under his ribs where his heart beat hollow.

It had been nearly a month since he’d thought he felt a tug behind his ribs, faint but familiar. He’d gone down to the river to sit and watch the boats come in. It was such a hot day; he and must have come down with heatstroke because he could swear that he felt Aziraphale tug at his heartstrings. 

There were days where Crowley wondered if perhaps it had been a lie, that Beelzebub had somehow tricked him. He could have traveled to Soho, he’d even considered it more than a dozen times, but he knew in his heart when he arrived in Soho and the book shop he held so dear to him wasn’t there, he’d… well, whatever he would do it wouldn't be good…

The truth was, he liked Soho. He’d visited frequently when he lived in England during the years the Antichrist was being raised. There was a sushi restaurant he frequented and a bakery as well. He’d even taken Warlock to a fancy ice cream parlor there one spring afternoon, full of flavors Crowley would never have thought to combine, and only two that Warlock would even consider. Pompous kind of place, worth going back to. 

And that was it, wasn’t it? He liked Soho, it would have been the perfect home for Aziraphale, and Crowley knew Aziraphale was gone. He did. He did know that. Regardless of phantom tugs or wishes, the angel had died a long time ago.

He growled, then threw the blankets from the bed and stepped into his kitchen only to find Beelzebub lounging across his sofa.

“Go away.”

They rolled their eyes. “I was hoping for breakfast, but I can go alone.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “The only reason you’re here is that you don’t have any cash and the last time you tried to steal a meal, the waitress whacked you with the menu.”

They glowered. “Yes, and they will have hell to pay when their time comes,” they buzzed...

“Eternal damnation for doing their job... sounds familiar,” he said bitterly. “Well, where do you have in mind. I need to get out of this dusty place anyway.”

The two walked down the stairs into the dark building that was supposed to be a shop but served much more appropriately as a place to hide his treasures. There were books, but there were also plants lining the windowsills, rare and beautiful pieces of art and even a towering statue that depicted evil triumphing over good. It never failed for Beelzebub to point and snigger at it when they visited.

“It represents good and evil wrestling with evil triumphing,” he’d said proudly the first time Beelzebub had visited.

“Are you certain that they’re wrestling?” they had asked. [1]

He heard a snort come from the other demon and he shooed them out into the street.

An hour later, he was in a small café watching the Prince of Hell stuff their face with pancakes and jam.

He took a sip of coffee and frowned. Even after all these years, it still felt wrong. His instincts were screaming for him to leave, and certainly not to trust them. It had been a very long time; likely before his fall, since he’d sat in the presence of Beelzebub and felt comfortable enough to let his guard down.

He tapped his fingers on the table, staring out the window as people walked by on the street. His long hair was tied in a loose bun and his nails. which he’d taken to painting, were chipped and needed a touch-up. His thoughts turned to Gabriel, Uriel and Michael.

He’d not seen any of them in years—well except for Gabriel. The look on his face had been priceless when he realized Adam was choosing to end Armageddon. 

“What’s got you cheerful?” they sneered.

He grimaced. “Don’t think you’d want to know.”

An eyebrow was raised.

“Gabriel… well the rest of them too.”

He nearly missed the look of interest followed by a deep frown, “And why would you be thinking a thing like that? Planning to crawl back into their good graces?”

Crowley gave them a pointed look, “I’d imagine the same reason you think of your time in heaven. S’part of us, can’t change that.”

“No.” The frown deepened. “You should know,” Beelzebub began.

“Yes?” he asked impatiently.

“Hastur spotted the boy.”

Crowley sat up, “Adam?”

“The very same. And wouldn’t you know, the decoy was with him.”

His eyes widened in surprise, “Warlock? Really?”

Beelzebub eyed him. “Hastur said they were canoodling.”

Crowley grimaced then chuckled. “Leave it to Hastur to make that word sound disgusting. They could do worse than each other.”

“Intel has it they could be working for heaven.”

“… and you want me to keep an eye out?”

“Precisely.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll let you know if I see them.”

[1] A reference to Neil Gaiman’s Instagram Post: https://www.instagram.com/p/BfNWiUCFBN1


	16. Chapter 16

Warlock held onto his seatbelt, eyes shut tight, trying very diligently to press the brake that was certainly not located on the passenger’s side of the car as they sped down I-95. He wasn’t sure how or when Adam received his driver’s training, but he found it unlikely he passed without cheating.

He cracked an eye open, suppressing a squeak as Adam cut through two lanes of traffic. “You may be impervious to fire, Adam, but may I remind you that I am not!” He covered his eyes with his hands as Adam swerved into another lane.

Warlock peeked through his fingers, and the curly-haired man only grinned mischievously. “Adam!”

He laughed. “Just trying to get there in a timely fashion!”

“Last time you’re driving on this trip,” grumbled Warlock feeling very much like his lunch could make a reappearance soon.

The closer they got to Savannah; the more uncomfortable Adam became. Something felt off as if the very fabric of the city had been cut and pasted back together. Badly. Adam glanced at Warlock, who had insisted on driving the rest of the way after they stopped for lunch. He was humming along to _Umbrella_ , eyes on the road as his thumb tapped the wheel.

They’d formed an easy friendship back in London, Adam had known that Warlock was nervous upon their first meeting, but he’d never been anything but kind. There were moments when it felt as if he’d known Warlock Dowling his entire life. He was funny and kind, unexpectedly sarcastic and so much braver than he realized. In the quiet moments of their search, while driving to and from the hotel, or across the towering cable-stayed bridge, over dinner and before bed, sometimes he would offer up nuggets of his past. Small clues as to who he was behind his quiet mask. It made Adam excited, to know Warlock was beginning to trust him enough—it made him want to know more… but it also made him worry. He was starting to worry he wouldn’t be able to protect Warlock against what was to come and that scared him. 

Adam bit his lip and sent Aziraphale a text.

_Something is definitely here. Worried about Warlock. Ideas?_

A short while later, the phone lit up.

_Dear Adam, go straight to the hotel, use the wards. See if you can sense what it is, I may have an idea. Call me soon. Sincerely, Aziraphale._

Adam glanced back at Warlock, he should tell him. Right?

_I’ll call you when we get there, twenty minutes._

Warlock sighed. “We should order pizza for dinner. I’m starved.”

“Why you don’t you shower once we’re settled, I’ll get the wards put up and go talk to the clerk. I’m sure they’ll know the best delivery place.”

He smiled. “Yeah, alright.”

Guilt ate at him the rest of the drive, boring a hole in his insides/gut. He should tell him but he didn’t want him to worry. Not just yet.

When they arrived at the hotel, Adam checked in and collected their keys before making their way up to the room. The room was nice, large beds with a beautiful view. He began unpacking, pulling the papers from his bag and placing them around the room. To his surprise, the low-level buzz of energy seemed to dissipate.

Warlock had begun to unpack, putting his clothes in one of the drawers when Adam sat down on the bed next to him.

“Something feels off here, Warlock... It’s old. Powerful. Whatever it is has changed this city. I can feel it.” He turned, staring worriedly at Warlock. Fingers twitching. “This isn’t just demonic energies, Warlock. It’s powerful and dark, tinged with a smidgen of holiness. It’s as if the very history of this city has been altered. Deformed.”

Warlock stared at him. “Is it Nanny?”

“I don’t think so… look, go shower and when you’re done, we can figure this out over pizza.”

Warlock searched his face, then finally nodded. 

“I need to call Aziraphale, too - so if you hear me talking while you’re in the shower, that’s all.”

He nodded again. “Alright. I guess I don’t have anything to contribute to that.”

Warlock closed the bathroom door quietly, hearing Adam already on the phone. He tried in vain to listen, but he couldn’t make out anything being said. Something in his gut twisted.

He took his time in the shower, letting the water pour over his tense shoulders. He couldn’t ignore the feeling that they were where they were supposed to be. Whatever it was, he hoped they found Nanny alive and safe.

After he turned the water off and got dressed, he found, Adam sitting stiffly on the bed with Dog curled up at his side. He had tension in his posture and a faraway look in his eyes that was quickly hidden when he realized Warlock had come out. 

He gave a fake half-smile as steam poured out the door behind Warlock. “Pizza’s on the way.”

“Adam?” he asked quietly.

He sighed, raking a hand through his limp curls. “I tried to convince Aziraphale you needed to leave, and I still think you need to. He was adamant that you were the key to finding and restoring Crowley. He said you would know when the time came, he was sure of it.”

Warlock crossed the room and sat beside him.

Adam refused to meet his eyes. “You need to know, I realized what I felt. Why it was so damn familiar and why it scared me as it did.” He locked eyes with him. “Names have power. I can’t, and I won’t say them. Not here. Not with so much of their power lingering in the city. You should know, however, that one is the Prince of Hell and the other is God’s messenger.”

Warlock’s eyes widened at the revelation.

“You should also know that this entire fucking city has been warped by them. They have power here, I can protect myself.” Adam touched his hand. “But you can’t. It’s not safe and I don’t want you hurt. I don’t believe for a moment Crowley would either.”

“I can’t leave. You know that. I owe them too much.” Warlock smiled then, squeezed Adam’s hand tightly. “I’ll be fine Adam, just you wait.” he felt a pit form in his stomach, not sure if he had just lied to his friend.

The rest of the evening passed quietly, with the two men occasionally stealing glances at one another. As Warlock tucked himself under the thin hotel blankets that night, his mind wandered back to their earlier conversation. It had felt, upon further consideration, that they were on a precipice. He couldn’t place it, whether it was a future lifetime of friendship or something more. 

The next morning, Adam awoke from a restless sleep to bright sunlight peeking through the curtains. He stretched, turned the lamp on beside him. Warlock was still asleep, his hand curled under his chin, mouth open. Adam chuckled and slid out of bed, grabbing his phone from the charger and walked out onto the balcony.

He dialed Aziraphale again.

“Aziraphale, it’s Adam.”

On the other side of the world, he answered. “Adam, yes. How are you this fine day?” The angel’s voice seemed a higher pitch than usual, 

He closed his eyes., “You were right. He wouldn’t leave, but I was thinking...”

“Yes?”

“… could we ward him? You know spells and sigils, there must be something.”

He heard Aziraphale swallow., “We seem to be thinking alike. I did some digging last night, I can send you the runes. If you can use a small miracle to essentially tattoo it onto his flesh, he should be at least protected against minor angelic and demonic interference and possession.”

“Good, good…” Adam paused., “…Aziraphale, are you alright?”

“It seems I have some company that will be arriving shortly and must prepare for them.” The call ended, seconds later a photo came through. _Over the heart is best. -A_

Whatever was going on, it obviously wasn’t good. They had to find Crowley, and soon.

Adam sighed, slipping back into the room and down to the lobby to fetch them breakfast and coffee.

He returned with a plate and two cups of coffee. Adam turned the light on and shooed Dog off the bed from where he’d moved to sleep near Warlock.

For the first time since he was eleven, Adam Young was really scared. As he gazed down at the sleeping man, another unfamiliar feeling churned in him, but he pushed it away. He detested the emotions bubbling up in his chest. They were unfamiliar to him. They made him feel warm and breathless, he didn’t want to think about it. It would be best to ignore any feelings of fondness until this was over with.

All he wanted was answers. He didn’t care much about them, or so he thought. As it turned out, he found he liked Aziraphale. He’d only met Crowley once, but he was there to give him hope in a dark place and Adam found he truly did wish the best for them both.

Then there was Warlock. The man had struck him from the moment they’d met. Warlock, who understood in a way nobody else could. Who was stubborn, who listened to him and joked with him… who trusted him implicitly. If this didn’t work, he could very easily lose his friend. He watched the other man sleeping, he’d moved in his sleep since earlier, sprawled out with half his leg hanging over the side of the bed. His features were relaxed—younger, his hair was mussed from sleep and his mouth slightly agape in sleep. 

Adam wrinkled his nose and sighed. Warlock looked cute and he really didn’t have time for _that._ He ignored the warmth in the pit of his stomach threatening to break free as he convinced himself that he really did have to wake the peacefully slumbering man.

Adam shook Warlock’s shoulder, attempting to jostle him awake.

It worked. One blue eye peeped out at him followed by another, a frown gracing his handsome features. “Ugh, what time is it Adam?”

“Time for all little boys to get up.”

He snorted., “Good thing I’m not little. God, that sounds like something Nanny would say.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Nanny. He’d forgotten.

Warlock sat up the stretched. “What’s wrong Adam?”

“It’s fine but Aziraphale sent this to me earlier and I think we need to use it.” He handed the phone to Warlock.

“Where do we need to put them? I’m not the best artist but I think I can manage.” He leaned over to see if the hotel had left a pen in the drawer.

“No, you misunderstood. Warlock, this would go on you. Like a tattoo.”

He blanched, his face twisting into horrified surprise. 

Adam laughed, this absurd man was willing to face Heaven and Hell for his old Nanny, but god forbid a needle poke him. “Take your shirt off and I’ll put it on, should be painless.”

Warlock raised his eyebrow. “It better be… at least make it look cool.”

“I’ll do it lime green if you don’t hurry up.”

Warlock frowned. “I will never forgive you… maybe black? Edgy, you know?” 

“Yeah, alright. Since you’re cute.”

Warlock rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. 

Adam scoffed., “Come on, I don’t have all day. Other clients to see, places to go.”

Warlock hesitated before pulling his baggy shirt over his head. He was pale, with a dark spattering of hair below his belly button and you could see his ribs clearly when he laid down on the bed. Adam’s mouth had gone dry, there was nothing traditionally appealing about him. He wasn’t a chiseled, Hollywood beauty, but he was handsome in his own, lithe way. Adam allowed his finger to trail down the flesh above his heart, orienting himself to where he’d leave his mark. 

“This shouldn’t hurt, just give me a minute. I’m not all that used to using my powers or magic… whatever it is.”

Warlock watched as Adam closed his eyes, his mouth pursed in concentration. He felt Adam’s warmth before he felt the pressure of Adam’s soft hands resting above his heart.

Adam was preoccupied as he pictured the image Aziraphale had sent him in his mind, his heart beating to the rhythm of; _keep him safe, keep him safe_.

Adam looked at him, and in his eyes, he saw something that made a lump form in his throat. _Trust_.

Warlock placed his hand over Adam’s hand, which was still resting on his chest, and squeezed. Shyly smiled at the man, “Let’s see the damage, shall we? I never expected to get a tattoo while on holiday in America.” He paused, then stuck out his tongue, “You know, if it looks terrible, I’ll never forgive you.”

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes, then reluctantly removed his hand.

The tattoo was black, the twisting symbols ancient and powerful. When Adam looked closer, he could see it. A glimmer of himself embedded in his heart, protecting him.

He flushed, then glanced away. “I have coffee… if you’d like some.”

Warlock flashed him a grin as he pulled his shirt back on. “You say that as if you don’t know me at all.”

Adam shook his head and grinned, he was likely already in too deep. 


	17. Chapter 17

Aziraphale sat the phone down on his desk and began cleaning the books and notes away. He was certain Gabriel would show up soon and if that happened, then what Warlock suggested was true; Heaven was working with Hell.

He was so close to fixing things, to having Crowley back. If this was to be his end, he’d be damned if he didn’t go down fighting.

Aziraphale had a plan, had been thinking on it ever since he realized what Gabriel had done to them. For now; he would pretend nothing was a miss, hope against hope they didn’t attempt to alter his memories for the third time and allow the boys to find Crowley.

He began to move things around strategically. Every hidden quirk, every bookshelf, and each squeaky floorboard was familiar to him. As much a part of him as his wings. If things took a turn for the worst, he planned to have it arranged to his advantage.

He moved several stacks of books to strategic locations, then realized he’d need to have a weapon to hand. In a moment, he thought of something suitable it wouldn’t do much good in the long run, but it would buy him some time.

He walked up the stairs and into the tiny flat above the shop. Hanging on the wall above his kitchen table was a sword.

This sword had been forged by one of the best bladesmiths of the time, nothing as nice as his other had been but he’d used it quite a bit during his time in Wessex. He doubted it would stand up to holy flame, but all he really needed to do was discorporate Gabriel and the others long enough to make his escape, or at least long enough to come up with a better plan.

Hopefully,., it wouldn’t come to that. If it did, he would fight. Aziraphale had been created to fight, it had been his purpose once upon a time. To fight, to guard and to triumph. He just wished he had more to defend himself against a handful of Archangels than a steel sword and whatever power he could summon. He carried it down into the main building and stashed it behind his desk.

He glanced around, satisfied with his work. Aziraphale had arranged everything to his advantage, he hoped. He sat in one of his plush chairs to have a rest and began to read. He allowed the book to take his mind to another place. A distraction from all the worry the last few weeks.

Nearly an hour later he felt the room’s molecules begin to distort, smell the tell-tell sign of a miracle, and the scent of ozone and heaven permeated the air.

“Aziraphale! Hello!” Gabriel took two steps and tripped over a bunched rug, hitting his shin on a table nearby.

He made a grunt of pain before stumbling to the chair beside Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hid a grin behind his hand, a well-placed gasp to stifle his laughter. “Oh! Gabriel! Are you well?

The Archangel frowned. “Yes! Fine.”

“Would you like tea? Water? Ice for your leg?” smiled Aziraphale.

Gabriel glared at the other angel, his eyes flitting over Aziraphale’s features appraisingly. “No, thank you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale schooled his features and pretended to be the same maudlin, anxious and withdrawn angel he’d been for the past twenty years. He picked up a book beside him and idly flipped the pages, more interested in his book than the angel beside him.

After a long, awkward pause Aziraphale asked, “To what do I owe this pleasure, Gabriel? Finally, come to take me up on my offer of a good novel or two?” He grinned as if joking with a friend.

The other angel looked revolted. He clapped his hands together, “Ah, no. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Aziraphale motioned around the room, “Well, Gabriel, I’ve decided to do a bit of spring cleaning, moving books around and sweeping… well, a bit. Just having a break for some tea and light reading!”

Gabriel glanced around the shop, another grimace. “I wouldn’t blame you if you just” - he made a snapping motion - “miracle it away. It’s so… cluttered in here.” 

“It’s cozy. Humans expect my shop to look like this, Gabriel… But you’re right, I do need to make some changes. Perhaps new shelves?”

Gabriel looked irritated. “Yes, yes. And a fresh coat of paint? Get rid of some of these… knickknacks? Perhaps some new brighter lights?”

Aziraphale visibly shuddered at the thought. He’d never do that to his lovely shop. “Well, that seems a bit…”

Gabriel interrupted, “How is your head feeling? Any headaches? New memories?”

“No, my memory is the same as always. It’s just…” he paused, “ …I did want to ask you. Why was it before I realized Raphael was gone, I couldn’t recall a time before the fall? It’s only, I realized I couldn’t recall my time in heaven except for right before I was placed in the garden. You’re always so very patient with me and I do trust you implicitly, Gabriel. ”

Aziraphale noticed him swallow., “ _ Obviously _ you must have blocked it out, forgotten for your own good.”

“How curious.”

“Yes, yes. Very strange. Perhaps it was for the best? After all, I never forgot that day but there have been times I certainly wish I could.”

Aziraphale noted the sadness that crept into his voice at that. “I’m glad we could talk about this, and as much as I do miss him, I often forget that he was your friend and brother too. Why don’t you tell me something about him I don’t know?”

And to his surprise, he did.

Aziraphale still hated him, hated the decisions he had made and what they had done to him, but he found himself feeling for Gabriel too. He was so caught up on revenge and the so-called “Great Plan”, Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he ever had time to properly grieve. He’d lost his own bondmate that day, along with two siblings.

“What about your bond mate, Gabriel?”

“What about them? They fell, Aziraphale. Nothing else to be done.”

“I suppose, it just seems a shame. You could seek them out, perhaps at least…”

“No. No, they made their choice. No use in it now. I’m an angel, loyal to Her. Could you imagine what it would be like to allow yourself to be with one of the fallen?”

“I imagined it every day for nearly 6000 years if you recall—I believed Raphael a demon. I’d give anything for him to be here, fallen or not.”

“That’s blasphemy Aziraphale and you’d do well to watch what you say,” snapped Gabriel.

Aziraphale nodded, “I still wish there were a way for the two of you to be together. I remember how the two of you would dote on one another. And I’d give anything to have Raphael back, I miss the warmth of his hand in mine.”

Gabriel made a strangled noise deep in his throat before abruptly standing. “Until next time. Don’t forget the report that’s due next Tuesday. And if you remember anything, you will call?”

“Of course.”

And then, Gabriel was gone.

Aziraphale slumped with relief. He’d struck a nerve with Gabriel, but he couldn’t help himself. There was very much a part of him that wanted Gabriel to feel remorse, to feel anything at all regarding what he’d done to them. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Gabriel just allowed himself a bit of happiness? Would Beelzebub even accept his affections?

An icy realization washed over him. What if Gabriel was actually seeing Beelzebub? If Heaven and Hell were working together, it would only make sense their two operatives would meet. Gabriel had taken Crowley from him while he was partnered with his own demonic mate. The hypocrisy made his blood boil.

He hoped the next time he met Gabriel, Crowley would be at his side. Things had gone better than he’d hoped for. Aziraphale hadn’t had much of a plan and in hindsight, discorporating Gabriel with a medieval broad sword was likely not the best way to go about things—even if it would make him feel much better. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Minor Character Death, Violence, Mentions of Memory loss, Blood and Bad Puns.

Two days later, on the other side of the world, two men were making their way down River Street in Savannah, Georgia. If anyone were to notice them, they would assume they were two lovers meandering down the scenic street beside the Savannah River. Since arriving, they’d been more openly affectionate towards the other, partially to hide their true reason for visiting the historic city and partially because something had changed.

It seemed the air between them had become charged. Hands brushed as shy looks were exchanged. It was new and different. Something  _ more.  _

From their location, Adam was certain that Crowley was close. Closer now than he’d been the day before. It was difficult to notice his presence in a city that had been so warped and distorted by another demon. Crowley felt mostly sad. Not really evil, just demonic.

The problem was the other demon; the one they’d spotted a few days before, the Duke of Hell. He was certain he’d been here recently; it was just so damned hard to get a read on other demons in this city. Adam had always been able to tell when danger was looming, and he felt it keenly, worming its way in, gnawing at him. He worried it had something to do with the Duke.

Then, there was Warlock. Adam had worried constantly since they arrived about the other man, each moment spent with him felt like an eternity, a gift. How it had happened in such a short amount of time, he didn’t know. Something in him had just clicked a feeling like he had found the missing puzzle piece and it had just fallen into place.

Much like in Charleston, Warlock knew quite a bit about the city from spending summers along the coast and had appointed himself tour guide. He was in his element and despite ribbing him about it, he thought it was geekily attractive. Adam allowed himself to be tugged towards a statue of a woman, waving a cloth above her head. He turned to look at Warlock who was staring serenely at the statue, a gentle smile gracing his features.

“Every time I come to Savannah; I make a point to see her. Hadn’t even thought of it this time and here we are. Imagine loving someone that much.” He sighed, stealing a glance at Adam.

Adam walked closer to the bronze statue. She looked bold standing there, a determined force standing guard. It felt right she should be here somehow. A guardian for the many travelers who passed by her.

Warlock spoke softly, as he did when spouting off some random historical fact. Adam had started calling it Warlock’s professor voice, first in his own head, and then when he wanted to needle Warlock. “She fell in love with a sailor when she was young. One day he sailed away, but he promised to return to her… so she waited. Every single day for 44 years, Florence Martus came here to wave on incoming ships. She lived with her brother, who operated the lighthouse on Elba Island not far from here. They say not a ship entered Savannah without her handkerchief welcoming them in.”

Adam glanced at him skeptically, catching his eyes. “Really? Is that true?”

Warlock grinned crookedly. “Mostly.”

Something was happening, a tug of fate or something else, pulling them towards the other. Adam took a step closer, the urge to kiss him rising suddenly within him...

“Not yet,” he whispered shaking his head

Adam nodded, turning to stand by his side, hands brushing as they watched the sun setting for the day. The world was illuminated in golds and pinks, and despite everything, Adam felt hope.

The next morning, as usual, they went out for breakfast.  _ Waffle House _ had quickly become a favorite of Adam’s and he’d insisted on it that morning. They returned to where they left off the day before. It all started out so well...

They’d stopped into a little café for lunch and got their meals to go, planning on sitting near the river before venturing into the area to see if they could make any headway.

“Hey, Adam,” Warlock said to get his attention.

Adam looked over at him, “What?”

“I like you a latte.”

Adam groaned.

“That was funny, and you know it,” Warlock said with a teasing grin. “Words cannot espresso how much you bean to me.”

He laughed. “Warlock, you mocha me crazy.”

“That was terrible!”

Adam stuck his tongue out at him.

“Hey?”

He rolled his eyes at Warlock. “Yes?”

Warlock took a sip of his coffee. “It’s a brew-tiful day today, Adam.”

Adam snorted.

One moment, Warlock was beside him, the next his iced caramel latte was spilled on the sidewalk and Warlock was being dragged to the end of a too-dark alley, Dog chasing after him. Adam recognized the man; a demon, the one they’d seen in Charleston.

His heart dropped as he chased after them.

At the end of the alleyway, Warlock was being held by his neck against the wall—Dog poised to attack, eyes glowing hell-fire red, growling low in his throat, waiting for the command from his master.

Adam could sense Warlock’s terror within him from the moment he’d been shoved against the rough brick. He felt a mirror of the fear his chest, radiating out from behind his ribs. Surprisingly, despite this, Adam felt calm. His eyes met frightened blue.

A rush of energy thrummed beneath his skin, it itched to be let free. Moments ticked by, the stretch of time drawing out goosebumps on Adam’s skin. The breeze picked up, sending discarded trash scattered to the wind. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Adam said in a quiet, commanding voice, eyes glowing the same red as Dog, unmistakable in the unearthly gloom under lowering skies.

The demon didn’t respond or even glance back. His grimy claws dug into the pale skin of Warlock’s neck, drawing a trickle of bright red blood. Warlock thrashed and kicked but was held firmly in place, eyes wide as he clawed at the arm holding him.

Adam took a step forward, slowly inching his way towards the demon, trying to decide on his best plan of action. He knew he needed to act quickly but there was little he could do without potentially hurting his friend as well.

Warlock quickly began to lose fight, the hands that had been fighting against the hand holding him in place grew weaker before his head lulled, arms falling to his sides. 

Hastur chuckled. Black eyes blazed with hellfire. 

The Duke of Hell; usually so fond of fire, found the flame he’d been preparing to burn his victim with had been turned on himself. 

Holy runes ignited, corrupting the hellfire meant to destroy Warlock.

Hastur was burning, searing with Holy fire. He grit his teeth, an angry growl seeping out from behind his clenched teeth. Still, he desperately tried to ignite the brat as he squeezed Warlock’s neck tighter while his corporation charred. He screamed, pulled back to try to swat away the flames covering his skin, but the fire consumed him until there was nothing left but ash scattering in the breeze.

Warlock had fallen onto the ground, splayed against the dirty concrete as he desperately tried—and failed to catch his breath.

It took a few brief moments before Adam realized what had happened. The calm was quickly replaced with concern for Warlock as panic overwhelmed him. In three long strides, Adam kneeled beside Warlock, his dark wings settling around them. Warlock was wheezing, tears falling down his face as a bruise began to form where he’d been held.

“We need to get you to the hospital…”

Warlock shook his head. “No.” his voice gravelly. He was covered in ash, highlighting the deep gash in his neck. 

“ _Please_ , come on. I’ll carry you if…”

Dog began to growl from behind him. Adam turned, still crouched but ready to fight.

In the light shining in from the end of the alleyway stood a man with shaggy hair reaching past his shoulders, wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt, tight jeans, and dark sunglasses. He dropped the shopping bag he was holding with a loud thud, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he was able to form a word. “Shit.”

Adam relaxed a bit, cautiously eyeing the man, gently curling one wing back around Warlock. “Crowley?”

“Er… Yes?”

Adam relaxed, moving back to his friend. His breathing had relaxed a bit but was still heavily labored. His eyes were closed but he was breathing. He rubbed circles into Warlock’s back trying to see if he would stir, then glanced back to the demon. “I think I—I need to get him to a hospital.”

Crowley shook his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “…Is that…?” he asked breathlessly.

“… Warlock? Yeah. That other demon just tried to kill him.”

“Oh… Satan.” Crowley took two steps forward, Adam stiffened. He held his hands up, “It’s alright.” A step closer, “here, let me help. J—just follow me, he’ll be fine.” Crowley paused. “Might want to tuck those away before someone notices.”

Adam nodded, wings vanishing before gently lifting Warlock and following Crowley across the street and into an old building. “I really think we should take him to the hospital.” He said, shifting Warlock in his arms.

Crowley shook his head. “Trust me. He’ll be better off with us; I can fix him right up. Wouldn’t be the first time. There’s a bed upstairs, the sooner we take a look the better. His breathing seems fine… mostly fine, but I’d imagine he’s in a lot of pain and I’d rather not take any chances.”

Adam followed him up the narrow staircase and into the bedroom, laying Warlock down in the center of the bed. Bruises were forming over his left temple and around his neck.

Crowley sat down crouched down beside him, hands hovering above Warlock. He frowned. “Adam, what happened to him?”

“What does it look like? Another demon.”

Crowley glanced back at him. “What did Warlock do to piss him off so much?”

“We’ve been looking for you.”

A sharp intake of breath, Crowley nodded.

“We’d just stopped for lunch; we were finding a place to eat. It’s such a nice day. Or it was.” Adam sighed. “He was beside me when we left, then he wasn’t.”

“You said a demon, where did they go?”

Adam frowned. “I think he’s dead.”

Crowley nodded. “This isn’t going to be pleasant for him, but with a little rest, he’ll be fine. ”He began to mutter something under his breath.

Adam watched in awe as the bruising began to fade, the raw edges of the scratches drawing together. Warlock whimpered as his wounds were mended. His wheezing breaths faded, muscles relaxing as he slid from unconsciousness into true sleep.

Crowley sat still for a little while, watching him carefully before nodding to himself. “I don’t think he would have made it to a hospital, Adam. There was more damage than human eyes can see.” He stood, turning to look at Adam as he said, “Any idea which demon came after you? I can have a word with Beelzebub. Hell, I should have a word with your Father.”

“A—I believe he said Hastur. Best not to get daddy dearest involved,” Adam replied wryly, wrinkling his nose. Adam needed to be careful, he’d nearly slipped. Aziraphale had been very specific on how he should tell Crowley about Aziraphale. Referring to the angel too soon could have dire consequences.

His eyes widened in surprise. “You killed a Duke of Hell?”

“Uh, well, not me exactly. I couldn’t figure out how to do anything without hurting Warlock as well. S’not as easy as it was when I was eleven. I was scared that it would somehow channel into him as well”

He furrowed his brow. “Warlock is human, how did he kill him?”

“… I don’t know,” he replied, unsure if the tattoo had done its job or not and unwilling to discuss where the image had come from, to begin with.

Crowley shook his head, giving him a look that said he clearly didn’t believe him. “Why did he attack Warlock?”

“Because he was with me, I guess? As I said, he’s been following us around for a while. I think he wanted revenge; he was livid.”

They both looked at Warlock as he began to stir, stretching. He yawned as his eyes fluttered open, before landing his gaze on Crowley. “Nanny?” he asked, he was still hoarse but sounded much more like himself than he had not ten minutes before.

Adam watched as Crowley tucked a strand of hair behind Warlock’s ear, a serene smile appearing on his careworn face. “You always were a little hellion. Leave it to you to finally get rid of one of the biggest pain in the ass demons around.”

Warlock chuckled. “Thanks for that, I’ve missed your instant healing trick.”

Crowley groaned. “How did you even know about that, hellspawn? You weren’t supposed to notice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a child capable of breaking so many bones.”

He laughed. “Between you and bro—my mom, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Crowley froze, eyeing him carefully. “You’ve never been a good liar and I don’t appreciate you lying now. You know as well as I that your mother was rarely around when you were with me. So, what were you going to say?”

Warlock sat up, eyes wide looking from Adam to Crowley. “I…”

“Just tell him,” Adam said quietly. “He needs to know. And the sooner we can leave the better for us all.”

“Adam, I don’t think…” he trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Between you and Brother Francis, I never had to worry about getting hurt.”

Crowley took two steps back, sharply inhaling. “That’s not funny.” 

“I’m not trying to be,” he said plainly. “Why would I joke about him?.”

“Get out,” Crowley spat.

Warlock shook his head, half rising on one elbow. “But his name wasn’t Francis was it? Because he wasn’t really a gardener, was he?”

Crowley took another step back, shaking his head.

“He owns a bookshop, eerily similar to this one. The thing is, it’s not much of a shop, is it? Does he even pretend to sell the books?”

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat; posture stiff. 

Warlock continued. “He’s an angel, with a very unangelic love for good food.”

Crowley was pressed against the wall. “Stop.”

“His name is…”

“Please, don’t,” whispered Crowley, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. 

“… Aziraphale.”

He shook his head. “You’re lying. Beelzebub said you were working with Heaven, this is a trick.”

Warlock threw his feet over the side of the bed, still unsteady but determined. “It was the three of us, together. In the garden, at the park, that time we visited the zoo so I could see the lions. Do you remember what happened?”

Crowley nodded. “We took you to feed the giraffes, but it wouldn’t stop trying to eat his coat.” His eyebrows creased in confusion. “No…”

“And then it licked your face, knocking your sunglasses off and into the enclosure. Francis gave you his handkerchief then refused to take it back because it was wet.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the memory, then glanced back up, meeting Warlock’s gaze. “Oh.” He slid down the wall, landing with a soft thump. He took off his sunglasses and eyed them both. “Why now? If Azi— _ he _ is alive, then why now?”

“Because they made him forget too,” Adam said softly. “Warlock found him and asked about you. The shock forced him to remember.”

Warlock glanced over at Adam. “They made him forget once before too, about the two of you..”

Crowley nodded and took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes tight against the emotions that threatened to spill from his eyes. His head was buzzing with questions and through all of them a rising tide of anger. It felt like there was a wall crumbling inside him.

“You know, you’re handling this much better than Aziraphale. He was out for three days.” Warlock added helpfully.

The demon croaked, “He would.”

“Do you want to call him?”

Crowley shook his head, a headache was forming and was beginning to pound heavy behind his eyes.

“Adam, he doesn’t look so good.”

“Not, he doesn’t.” Adam walked to the demon, easily lifting him to his feet and dragging him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t think we have three days, Nanny.”

Crowley clenched his teeth, his eyes shut tight against the building pressure.

Warlock reached out, softly touching the demon’s arm. “Here, lay down.” He glanced over at Adam who nodded, leaving the room. “Nanny, this is important. Can you hear me?”

Crowley nodded, allowed Warlock to guide him to the edge of the bed.

“Aziraphale said this was one of your spells, he said you were the only one who could fix it.”

Then suddenly, Crowley could feel it, the edges and planes of the spell that caged his memories,. It was dissolving, his true and false memories mingling as the truth flooding out. The pounding in his head became nearly unbearable. Darkness slid across his vision. He tried to fight it, but soon, unconsciousness took him.

Warlock sighed. Satisfied Crowley was stable, and feeling in need of rest himself, he pulled a throw from the end of the bed and draped it across the demon. His throat was sore/ached, he still felt a bit dizzy from the encounter with Hastur, but he was, somehow, blessedly alive and standing watch over his childhood Nanny.

Adam returned with his phone pressed against his ear, Dog trailing behind him and a glass of water in hand.

“Aziraphale?” he mouthed. 

Adam nodded.

“How long does he think we have?” he asked quietly, taking a small sip from the glass.

“If they didn’t notice Hastur, maybe a few days?”

“… and if they did notice?”

Adam frowned, listening to the angel on the line, “Hours at best.”

Warlock bit his lip. “Oh.”

“Yeah, here, he wants to speak with you,” Adam said, handing the phone over to him.

“Aziraphale?”

The line was silent for a moment, “I…” he paused, “I just wanted to thank you. You truly have no idea how much this means to me.”

Warlock smiled softly. “I do—it’s well. I’ve missed him too...”

Aziraphale hummed. “…And now we have him back my dear, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “You’re welcome, Aziraphale.”

“I’m very glad you are alright as well. Adam told me what happened. I don’t… the runes shouldn’t have worked in that way,” he said gently.

He glanced at Adam, “Oh.”

“I’m glad they did. Whatever it was that happened, I’m thankful. I should let you go, you need to rest Warlock. You may feel fine, with Crowley’s healing, but your body still needs time to fully recover.”

He nodded, “I will. Goodbye, Aziraphale.”

Adam looked at him questioningly, “Did he say anything important?”

A crooked smile, “Thank you.”

“Oh.”

Warlock nodded, “He said we should try and rest.”

“That may not be the best idea, I think it would be better if I stand guard. There’s a sofa downstairs, why don’t you kip there.”

“You’re right, but if you need anything, wake me.”

“I will,” he said.

“If we’re lucky he will be awake soon,” said Warlock. 

Adam left the room, but Warlock lingered. It was surreal, so much had happened since their attempt at lunch. His hand went up to his neck, the only sign of injury left was the blood still caked there. 

His attention turned towards Crowley—his Nanny. He’d wondered for years where she’d gone to, it was hard to imagine the man lying on the bed was the same person who’d kissed his scrapes away and tucked him in at night. 

Warlock watched his even breathing for a while before deciding to find Adam. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Consensual Bathing

Beelzebub sat in their office; feet propped against their grungy desk with a frown etched onto their features. Gabriel had yet to check-in and they were getting concerned.

The thing was, they thought wryly, they trusted Gabriel. Implicitly. It was likely a mistake but at their very core, ingrained in their existence, was their connection to Gabriel. Regardless of how much had changed, Gabriel would always be Beelzebub’s dirty little not-so-secret. Even after all these years and all the moments Gabriel had denied their connection, they couldn’t seem to break free of it. But they didn’t trust his ability to control one particularly troublesome Principality.

Beelzebub had once been close with Aziraphale too and knew Aziraphale was clever. Sharp, and smarter than Gabriel had ever given him credit for, and Beelzebub had a bad feeling forming in their gut.

They snatched the book from their desk drawer, slamming it open atop their messy desk. Beelzebub searched their desk for a pen, rummaging through drawer after drawer before finding a topless Bic pen. Opening the book, they pressed the nib to the paper to write…

Nothing happened.

“Buggering fuck,” they grumbled. “Can’t get any good pens down here.”

Beelzebub swore, then quickly scribbled a circle onto the corner of the page, hoping there was ink left in the well.

Beelzebub glared at the pen, that by all rights shouldn’t have been able to write, but even an inanimate object knew it was in its best interest to obey the Lord of the Flies. Finally, it began to write.

_ Hey, Gabe. You heard from the angel? _

It took a moment before Gabriel’s unbearably tidy loopy writing began to appear on the page. It made Beelzebub frown. Bloody perfect angel with his bloody perfect cursive. 

_ I’ve asked you not to call me that,  _ **_ Bee _ ** _. Which angel?  _

_ Don’t be obtuse you bastard. Aziraphale. Who the fuck else? _

_ Same as ever, I don’t know how he lives in that cluttered mess he calls home. It’s disgusting. _

_ Are you certain?  _

_ That his home is disgusting? You’ve seen it. Clutter. Everywhere.  _

_ Stop fucking with me. _

_ I said he was none the wiser. What about my wayward brother?  _

_ Nothing. I sent Hastur up to keep an eye on them. I told him it had to do with recruiting him.  _

_ Good. If anything comes up, contact me at once! _

_ Obviously, dick wings.  _

Warlock shut the door, walking down the stairs to find Adam thumbing through a display of vinyl records. The building looked so like Aziraphale’s but was different enough to make him wonder if the person who created it had ever actually stepped foot into the building for longer than a few minutes.

“No signs of waking, then?”

Warlock shook his head, eyes drooping. “Not yet, Aziraphale was out for several days. Do you think we should leave? What if someone finds us?”

“No, we’ll give it a few more hours. If anyone comes in, I’ll deal with it.“

Adam watched Warlock as he sat down, looking as exhausted as Adam felt. His shirt was stained a dark burgundy from where he’d bled earlier, and his face was coated in a layer of filth and grime Adam was sure partially belonged to the burned demon. “Let’s get you cleaned up; I know I saw a bathroom upstairs.”

Warlock nodded sleepily and allowed himself to be tugged back up the stairs.

Adam turned on the small shower and went to find a towel. When he returned, Warlock stood naked under the flow of water. Pink pooled at his feet as the dried blood was rinsed down the drain. Adam had to fight back the bile rising in his throat, to think of what might have happened.

Adam had found him a clean shirt and a pair of black track pants to put on once he was out of the shower. The shirt he’d been wearing Adam burned in his hands before vanishing the soot, unable to bear the sight of it again.

When he returned to the bathroom, Warlock was slumped against the shower wall. Adam could see his legs shake, close to buckling. Adam sighed, picked up the flannel then walked to where his friend stood. “Warlock?”

“Hm?” He turned to face Adam.

“The sooner you’re clean, the sooner you can rest. Do you…” He bit his lip, he didn’t want him to feel like he’d been taken advantage of but he needed to clean off. “…want me to help? I don’t mind washing your hair.”

Warlock nodded, eyes meeting briefly before he let his head fall against the wall once more.

Keeping his eyes up, he began the process of washing Warlock’s dark hair. Brown sludge lathered under his fingers. He scrubbed until he felt most of the grit was loose. Rinsed it, running his fingers through the chestnut strands until the water ran clear. 

“Hey, look at me. Close your eyes, alright? Just a little bit longer and you can sleep.”

Warlock sleepily agreed. 

Adam was partially grateful for the tiny shower stall, Warlock had little room to fall except into his arms—a realization that caused Adam to gulp in panic. Shaking that thought from his head, he took the flannel and slowly washed the dirt from Warlock’s face, neck, and shoulders. He’d almost lost him. 

There was a scar, pale and slightly raised on Warlock’s neck. It made Adam angry, made him want to raise the demon from the dead so he could have the pleasure of killing him himself. Adam realized his breathing had become harsh and angry. Luckily, Warlock didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were closed still, paying little attention to the world around him.

“I… can you get everything else?”

He opened his eyes then nodded his head, taking the cloth from his fingers. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Adam just smiled. “I’ll be right outside if you need me. I found some clothes for you to put on, they’re on the toilet.

Warlock didn’t reply.

Adam shut the door behind him, wiping his wet hands on the cloth of his jeans and sliding to the floor. He was in too deep. He wanted to cry or scream, leave it to him to fall in love during the worst possible time.

Dog licked his face. “We’ll keep him safe, won’t we, boy?”

He responded with another lick to the face and a flash of red eyes. Adam smiled, running his fingers through Dog’s short fur.

The water turned off and he heard shuffling and a muffled  _ fuck _ before the door opened, steam drifting into the hall.

Adam smiled, the clothes were a bit tight and the pants were much too short. He chuckled then snapped his fingers to make them fit better.

Warlock glanced down. “Thanks,” he said with a small, tired smile.

“Let’s find you a place to nap.” 

Once downstairs, Warlock collapsed onto a sofa and fell into a deep sleep with Dog curled in his lap.

Four hours later, Warlock began to stir. Adam had been sitting at the foot of the sofa for nearly the entire time. He’d gone up to check on Crowley a handful of times with the demon doing nothing more than taking short intakes of breath. He was unnaturally still, corpse-like and unresponsive to touch or conversation. 

Warlock's hair was mussed from falling asleep damp and he still looked exhausted. “Stay there, I’ve got a pot of coffee ready to brew.”

Warlock yawned sleepily. “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, he returned with a mug in hand and pressed it into Warlock’s hands.

“I don’t remember the last time I’ve had so much coffee.”

Adam laughed. “You’re American. Isn’t it one of those things that you have to enjoy to pass the test?”

Warlock snorted. “Mmm, along with how to shoot off fireworks, bake an apple pie and play baseball.”

“You play baseball?”

He laughed. “God no! I tried, when we came back my dad decided to get me to play for the school team. Bought me a ton of equipment. Even signed me up for pitching lessons. I wasn’t terrible at that, but I never could hit. I also hated how much time practice took. I preferred my music lessons.”

“What happened?”

Warlock yawned and shrugged. “I told dad I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

Adam watched Warlock retreat into himself. “What was he like?”

Warlock shook his head. “Eh… you know how Dads are.”

Adam laughed humorously, “yeah.” 

A little while later, Warlock found Adam once again digging through Crowley’s vast record collection.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

Adam looked at him curiously. “Why? It’s cool.”

He shook his head again. “It’s too much like Aziraphale’s shop. It must have been made for him, to keep him from asking questions.” He walked towards the bookshelves and pulled a familiar-looking cover from its spot. Warlock frowned, “Look, Adam, this is exactly like the one in Aziraphale’s shop.”

“What?”

“Exactly, look at this. I’ve read this copy, see the little tea stain on the edge there? It’s the same way at A.Z. Fell & Co.” He grinned smugly, “half of this stuff Nanny would never buy--that has to be because he didn’t. I just don’t know why parts of the interior look different…”

“… It’s because unlike Aziraphale,  _ I  _ have style.”

He turned towards the back of the shop to see the demon walking towards them. “Nanny!—er, Crowley!”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Nanny’s fine. It feels weird for you to call me anything else.”

Adam had walked to stand beside Warlock, putting himself between Crowley and Warlock. “Glad to see it didn’t take a few days for you to come ‘round.”

“Na, once I realized what they’d done it was easy to fix. I just can’t believe I didn’t recognize it before. Arsehole must have gone through my things when I left.”

Warlock raised an eyebrow. 

“Gabriel was—is a brother of sorts. Just like your Dad. We were made together, or first. It's complicated,” said Crowley. 

Warlock blinked, “Lucifer and Gabriel are your brothers? The Snake of Eden and Gabriel who gave the Annunciation?”

Crowley grinned, lowering his glasses. “Who says Lucifer was the Snake of Eden?  _ Really _ , hellspawn. I thought I taught you better,” he teased. 

“Oh,” blinked Warlock. “It was…  _ you _ ?”

“Yup,” smirked Crowley. 

Adam wrinkled his nose, unphased. “Siblings are the worst.”

Crowley frowned. “Look. I haven’t seen Aziraphale in almost 20 years. I—I just want to see him. I can take myself but…”

Adam shook his head. “They’re monitoring you both. It’s why we flew, and Aziraphale didn’t come with us.”

“Oh.”

Warlock took a step forward. “Adam’s right. They’ll notice if you do anything major, we need to plan things. Lay low.”

Crowley growled. “I don’t care what the two of you do, but I’m going to him.”

“Nanny, what if we leave tomorrow morning? We can catch a flight there. It’s slower, but you’ll draw less suspicion that way.”

Crowley raked his fingers over his face, rubbing his eyes. “No, you’re both right. Tomorrow. It’s late, you both need sleep and…”

Warlock smiled. “You should call him.”

Crowley swallowed and nodded jerkily at the thought of hearing Aziraphale’s voice again. “Ngk.”

“You weren’t there when he realized you were taken from him when he realized that you were alive. He knows we found you, he’s just waiting on you now,” Warlock said softly. “Here. The number is up on the screen.”

Adam glanced around. “Do you have a guest bedroom or…?”

He shook his head. “Just use my bedroom, I’m not going to use it.”

Warlock and Adam looked at one another, Warlock turning quickly away, a slight blush forming over the tips of his ears and cheeks.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed then grinned. “Goodnight boys, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“‘Night, Nanny.” He replied as he hurried up the stairs.

Adam watched as Dog chased happily behind him, then turned to Crowley. “Call him. There’s a lot we should have told you but it’s better this way. Aziraphale can explain everything. He’s waiting, I just sent him a text.”

Crowley scoffed. “Right. You’re pulling my tail, Aziraphale has sworn off cellular phones since the ’80s.”

Adam grinned. “He texts like he’s writing a letter, but we thought it would be best to be able to text if something came up. And he can make calls too, but he still needs someone to hang up first.”

“I’m going to hear his voice for the first time in so long and I am terrified I’m going to wake up and he’ll be gone again.”

Adam came to rest beside the demon, reached out and pinched his arm.

He flinched. “What’d you do that for?”

“To prove you weren’t sleeping, goodnight Crowley.”

“Goodnight, Adam,” he said before turning to study the phone in his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not come up with Dick Wings, that is 100% the lovely people of Ace Omens.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There was Only one bed--but nothing untoward happens

The number was cued up. All he had to do was hit the call button and he’d hear Aziraphale’s voice. Fear bubbled in his gut. He was raw with emotion, it had settled into his bones. He felt coated in it. He was so bloody anxious he could hardly think straight.

Crowley closed his eyes and pictured Aziraphale. How worried he must be, how tired and brave he must have been these past few weeks. To learn that Crowley was alive and be patient enough to restrain himself from jumping headfirst into action. Aziraphale had always been more careful. 

He realized that he was startling to think of Aziraphale in the present tense.  _ Alive _ . Aziraphale was alive.

He glanced down at the phone; heavy and warming in his palm. He pressed send. 

It began to ring. 

It rang once, then twice, before the call connected with a click.

“Ah—yes, hello?” said the voice of an angel. 

Crowley's heart leaped in his chest. He'd half expected this to be a cruel joke; but the moment he heard Aziraphale’s beloved voice, he jerked in surprise and nearly dropped the phone. He exhaled a shuddering breath, and spoke, his voice soft, painfully so. “Hiya, angel.”

“C—Crowley! Oh!” 

“It’s me. I…” He took a breath to steady himself. “Stars above, I can’t tell you how fucking wonderful it is to hear your voice.”

“I don’t think I have to imagine.” 

Crowley chuckled awkwardly, his grin so wide it made his cheeks hurt. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Warlock deserves the credit, really. Just hearing him say that you were real and not all in my head. I thought I’d made you up. Just a particularly vivid, grief-induced hallucination.”

“I thought you’d died, Aziraphale. I remembered your death… I woke up and you weren’t there and then Beelzebub told me…” his voice faltered, “...told me you were gone.” 

"I know, waking up without you... and to Gabriel, of all people. It was dreadful."

"It was." Crowley frowned. "Fucking Gabriel. At least they allowed you to stay in Soho."

"You've always been the more adventurous out of the two of us, my dear."

He snorted. "It's too bloody hot here, though. And what do you know, it seems we’re both in the business of selling old books. The shop here in Savannah is bloody full of old texts.”

“What?”

Crowley shook his head. “They gave me a place to live, looks so much like your shop I wouldn’t question it. Most of the furniture and art from my flat are here too. You’d hate it.”

Aziraphale laughed. “It really can’t be any worse than your flat was, my dear.”

“Oi—rude!”

“Well, I’m only being truthful, dearest. Your taste in décor is… ah—interesting to say the least.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yes, well… antiques are never out of fashion, are they?”

“They are if they were never  _ in _ , to begin with, angel.”

Crowley heard a sob from the other line. He suddenly felt so very far away from Aziraphale. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him into his arms. To comfort him, to kiss him. “I’m sorry—it’s just, I’ve missed this so much. I have missed  _ you _ so much.”

“Just a few hours and I'll be there. Adam and Warlock are asleep, they were exhausted. Besides, I wanted a chance to hear your voice before I left.”

“What happened? Adam mentioned an accident…”

Crowley frowned, pausing for a moment. “Warlock was nearly killed. I don’t actually know how he survived, Aziraphale. He  _ should _ have died.”

“How did he survive?”

“I think it had to do with Adam, I've only met the kid once but I know that look, Aziraphale. I think there is something between them, I could feel it. He was protecting him, even if Adam himself wasn't aware.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Really? That’s wonderful.”

“Yeah. It is.”

"I'd hoped they would get along. You should have seen how protective little Warlock was when Adam first came over. He's still such a sweet boy."

Crowley laughed, "he's not so little now. I—I was so happy to see him but scared too. At first, I didn't realize who it was. I saw black wings and could feel something holy. Then I realized it was Adam and the limp thing falling to the ground was him." Crowley paused and took a breath, "when Adam picked him up—he was so close to being gone Aziraphale."

He heard Aziraphale swallow, "but he's asleep, you said..."

"He and Warlock took my bed for the night. He's fine, just a scar but it couldn't be helped."

"I'm so glad you were there, Crowley. He's such a nice boy—we didn't do too bad with him after all."

Crowley smiled, "no. We didn't. Not bad at all."

The rest of the night passed in much the same way, phones pressed close to their ears, relishing in the voice of their beloved on the other line. 

They spoke of their lives the past twenty years, of their worries and the promise of tomorrow. 

Aziraphale smiled into the phone, “What would you say, my dear… if, well. What would you say to leaving London when this is all over?”

“You’d leave your shop?”

“Darling, this shop holds too many grim memories. We could travel the world, do the things we always dreamed of… perhaps retire to the country?”

Crowley grinned, “I’d follow you anywhere you wanted to go, angel—even the country.”

The hours passed quickly. Plans were made and loneliness chipped away. 

Dawn broke over Savannah, amber light pooling under the curtains in Crowley’s bookshop. “I need to get ready to leave. I’m coming home, Aziraphale. I’ll see you soon.”

He heard the pause in Aziraphale's voice, reluctant to hang up. “I’ll see you soon. I love you, Crowley.”

He smiled, choked out. “Love you too.” Then hung up.

Adam woke to sunlight hitting him square in the face. His back was stiff and there was something heavy weighing him down. Adam instinctively tightened his arms around it. He blinked in the offending pale blue light as memories of the day before returned to him. Warlock was tucked safely against him, his head resting in the crook of Adam’s neck with an arm wrapped firmly around him.

They hadn’t gone to sleep like this. He was sure of that because he’d made a point of not touching Warlock when they settled into bed. Adam hadn’t wanted to make him feel uncomfortable. The day before had been trying, the last thing he needed was to feel pressured. 

The warm weight of him soothed Adam’s fractured nerves. He wished he could lay there forever. But It wasn’t over, not by a longshot.

They were flying home, and soon. He’d get his answers and maybe find a way to keep Warlock too. He shifted in his sleep, sighing against Adam’s neck. Adam realized he should probably wake him up, but he was loath to lose the contact.

“Warlock,” he murmured, “Come on, time to wake up.”

Warlock shifted, fingers grasping at the cloth of Adam’s shirt before lifting his head up. Sleepy blue eyes stared down at him, bright in the morning light. He bit his lip, gaze flickering to Adam’s mouth. There was a moment Adam thought Warlock might kiss him, but it passed. Adam smiled up at him. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Ugh, Morning,” Warlock grumbled, moving into a sitting position and stretching out his long limbs.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Well, I certainly hope you have.”

“Haha, funny,” Adam retorted.

Adam rolled his eyes. “We need to get back as fast as possible. What if we hired a private jet?”

“How would we do that?”

“I could persuade them to take us… it would be faster and likely safer. We don’t want to draw attention to us and using any type of power after yesterday could do just that.”

“Have you talked to Nanny about this?”

Adam shook his head.

“Right.”

Two hours later, Crowley, Warlock, and Adam were boarding a plane to England with Dog yelping at their heels. Crowley sat at the front of the plane. Neither the two pilots nor the attendant seemed to notice the wrong three people had boarded and wouldn't be able to recall their faces once they'd landed. 

Nine hours later, they landed at Heathrow.

Crowley stepped off the plane and glanced around. It was cool in the early hours of the morning. The energy of the soil beneath his feet and the scent of the breeze grounded him with a feeling of rightness, a sense of place. He was home.

Crowley hadn’t brought anything with him except for his journals, although he felt sick to think of them. What had once been treasured memories was now ruined. The thought of Beelzebub, or worse, Gabriel, combing through his personal diaries? To change the words and events? It made him sick with anger. 

The journey back to England had taken much too long, especially when he could have hitched a ride via phone line, but it made the most sense. Adam was right. hey didn’t need to draw unnecessary attention to themselves, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

The ride had been good for one thing—it had given him time to form a plan. If his suspicions were correct, what Gabriel and Beelzebub had done wasn’t official business with Heaven or Hell. This had been personal, and from what Aziraphale had said the night before, Gabriel and Beelzebub were probably working together. How long had they been corresponding? It was all well and fine for them to reconnect, to work together, but they had the nerve to retaliate when he and Aziraphale did the same?

Crowley couldn’t believe he had come to rely on Beelzebub, the traitor. He’d always been uneasy about trusting the Prince of Hell, but there had been moments when he was sure Beelzebub’s concern for him was genuine. He still couldn't quite absorb how thoroughly he'd been betrayed. He should have known better. Demons don't make friends—regardless of who they’d been to one another in Heaven.

Crowley was pulled from his musings by a hand on his arm. “Come on Nanny, let’s get you home.”

He nodded, following them into one of the cabs parked near the gate. An hour—if they were lucky—and he would be with Aziraphale. 


	21. Chapter 21

London looked the same as he’d always remembered it, it was raining—no surprise there, it was the same gloriously gloomy place he’d grown up. It was home. Streets and buildings passed by quickly and soon, they were in Soho. A familiar building came into view, he was excited. To see Aziraphale again, to see them together again. They were back where it all began. Warlock took a moment to glance at Nanny, who was bouncing with nervous energy.

As the cab rolled slowly to a stop, Adam squeezed his hand. Adam’s warmth seeped into him, calmly reassuring him.

Warlock hadn’t been able to get any rest on the flight, and he was feeling exhausted and irritable. Crowley had nearly bitten all his nails off and wouldn’t stop fussing at his hair.

Adam got out first, followed by himself and then Nanny with Dog hopping along behind them.

Crowley stood next to the cab, looking up at the shop ahead of him, expression half-hidden beneath dark glasses, lips drawn, and chin lifted high. Fists were clenched.

In all the years Warlock had known Nanny, he had never once seen him so still.

Warlock carefully placed his hand on the demon’s arm and tugged him forward. “Come on, he’s waiting.” The nervous energy was pouring off Crowley. His hair was sticking up in all directions and there was a weariness in his eyes that Warlock couldn’t remember ever seeing before. His body was wound tight—ready to snap any second.

Adam opened the door and held it for the others to step through.

Crowley stood outside, placing a hand on the doorframe for a long moment before tentatively stepping inside.

From the back of the shop, he heard a surprised  _ oh! _ And the patter of approaching feet. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, a faltering smile and barely held back tears. His hair was limp, eyes were dark and tired. Crowley had never seen him look so fragile before.

Each stood unmoving—frozen in place as they stared at one another for the first time in years. Crowley took in the angel across the room, he’d changed his shirt and his waistcoat was fashioned in a moderately more modern way.

Then, Crowley took a deep breath and took three steps forward, almost close enough to touch—inches apart. Their breath mingled, fingers aching to reach out to the other but too scared to discover it was an illusion.

They had gone longer without the other—centuries in some cases. They’d gone longer without touching the other, but each felt as if they crossed the last few inches between them, the other would crumble away, leaving them alone to their beautiful fiction once more.

Finally, Aziraphale spoke. “You’re here.”

He nodded, slowly reaching out a shaking hand and brushing a fingertip across Aziraphale’s face, smiling as he did. He was  _ actually _ here, tangible under his fingers, so many times he’d imagined only for him to disappear as he reached for him.

This was real.

“Oh Crowley,” said Aziraphale, a sob catching in his throat. He took a step forward and buried his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck. Trembling arms reached around Crowley as his arms wrapped him tight. Crowley held him tight, swaying gently back and forth, whispering unintelligible words.

Warlock noticed the quiet feel of Adam behind him and wondered how he had become a comforting presence in his life so quickly. He felt at peace when he was nearby, whatever it was that had been building between them, he hoped would remain once this was over. He was sure Adam wouldn’t just leave, but he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It had all been too easy. Too easy to contact Adam, too easy to befriend him, too easy to find his Nanny and it had been much too easy to start to fall in love. Warlock reached behind him and felt for Adam’s hand, fingers lacing. Warlock wasn’t sure what was to come of this, but he  _ hoped. _

He knew this whole ordeal wasn’t over. Not yet. Gabriel would come, and Beelzebub. 

And they would be pissed.

Adam and Warlock excused themselves to a tucked-away corner of the shop, allowing Aziraphale and Crowley to be alone.

“Thank you, Adam. I know this wasn’t easy for you, but I appreciate your help. I know they do too.”

“It wasn’t for them at first, I just wanted to finally have answers. You spend your entire life wondering what you are, the true purpose of your existence. If She knew that was going to happen, why do it in the first place? ” Adam sighed. “I don’t regret it though. Even if when all this is over, say they don’t have the answers I’m looking for, I won’t regret it.”

Warlock nodded. “Whatever your reasons, I appreciate it. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “And I care now. What they did to them, and to me… even to you. It wasn’t fair or right. It was cruel, a means to an end.”

“It’s not over. Gabriel—Beelzebub, they will find them; I’m worried it won’t end well,” he said plainly, meeting Adam’s eyes.

“You don’t know that; Crowley is just as powerful as they are.”

Warlock frowned. “What if it’s the whole of Heaven and Hell?”

Adam shrugged. “Then we might not be so fine, but this doesn’t feel like the whole of Heaven and Hell. It sounds like two pissed off superiors trying to shut up two insubordinate employees by any means necessary.”

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me. Crowley and Aziraphale will be fine. And I’ll be there too.” Adam reached across the distance between them, lacing their fingers together once more, taking comfort in the warm palm resting against his own. “We have a few more days, they haven’t realized they’re together again. It will be fine.”

Warlock squeezed the hand in his own, allowing himself to take the comfort he offered. “I—I want to believe you. I trust you, Adam Young.”

Adam smiled, squeezing his hand again, then nodded.

They sat quietly against the wall for what felt like hours, Warlock’s head resting on Adam’s strong shoulder. Their hands still joined, taking comfort in the other just because they could.

“I’m beat.”

He laughed, “Me too.”

Crowley noticed Warlock and Adam leave, but there was so much he wanted to say to Aziraphale. Reluctant, he disentangled himself, allowing himself to look freely at the angel.

“I keep thinking you’re going to disappear, that this is just another hallucination, that I’m going to wake up and you’re going to be gone again.” He swallowed, searching the angel’s face. “I’d rather drink holy water than to lose you again.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “No, I am so thankful it never came to that… to think. No, I’m glad you didn’t. I would have lost you forever.”

“I won’t lie to you Angel, there were times when I begged Her for death. Especially in the beginning. And to think that they knew! That Beelzebub let me ache for you, all the while working with Gabriel.”

“I could never imagine an angel doing something such as that to another angel, but here we are.” Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley’s heart, the beating beneath his fingertips a balm on his raw heart. “ We were together here on Earth for such a short while. I never realized how much I would miss the beat of your human heart. I would have given anything to feel it again and now that I can…” He pressed himself against the demon, his arms pulling him tight in the embrace. His voice cracked, “I will not let you go.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere without a fight, angel.” He buried his nose in Aziraphale’s hair. “What… what do you remember?”

“Everything.”

“Everything? As in…”

Aziraphale pulled back to gaze into his golden eyes. “ _ Everything. _ Why didn’t you ever say?”

He shook his head. “I was worried," Crowley took a shaky breath, "if you didn’t remember it was because  _ She _ did it. That She didn't want us to," he trailed off. If I had known it was that wanker, Gabriel, I could have fixed it. So easily. I should have tried, but I was so scared it would hurt you.”

“Dearest, it wasn’t your fault, there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. After you fell,” His fingers found his face, allowing his fingertips to brush against Crowley's freckled cheekbones. He licked his lips and looked down, whispering, “I asked him to.”

He felt Crowley go stiff in his embrace, his voice was rough with emotion. “Why?”

“ It hurt so much. Too much. He promised he could make it better, promised that I’d be healed.” He glanced back up to Crowley. “I just wanted to forget. I loved you and you were gone—gone where I couldn’t follow.”

Crowley nodded. “I’m glad you didn’t follow me, angel. I would never, never want that for you.”

Aziraphale ducked his head to rest beneath Crowley’s chin, wrapped his arms around the thin demon and closed his eyes. This was real. He never wanted to let go, too scared Crowley would disappear again. However, they grew tired of standing and made their way to a familiar sofa. Spacious and worn, embellished with a floral design that had never once been fashionable. Crowley had never been so pleased to see it.

Aziraphale snuggled in close beside him, head resting comfortably on Crowley’s shoulder, with Crowley’s arm around him, hands entwined between them.

Aziraphale swallowed. “What are we going to do?”

“I think I have a plan. And it should work. As long as it’s just the two of them.”

“I’m listening.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Mild Violence, non-consensual putting to sleep.

Beelzebub stood in the middle of an empty room. 

He was gone. 

Earlier in the day, one of Hastur’s underlings had noticed he’d not returned from his trip topside. 

In an alleyway just across from the bookshop, they’d discovered the pile of ash that once had been the Duke of Hell. 

Beelzebub had gone up immediately after--sure that the idiot had been wrong. Hastur was a Duke of Hell, he wasn’t stupid enough to go and get himself killed. Honestly, if they wanted something done right, they needed to do it themselves. 

Sure enough, the remains of Duke Hastur were scattered in an alleyway. 

Beelzebub sprinted across the street--and in the bookshop, no Crowley. Not in the apartment above the shop, nor, apparently, anywhere else in Savannah at all.

A low, angry buzz filled the room before the glass shattered around them. 

Beelzebub walked across the room, dug around for a pen and pulled out _their_ journal. 

_Meet me, NOW._

Moments later, Beelzebub felt a soothing presence behind them. It disgusted them, how good it still felt just to be near Gabriel. Beelzebub turned. “He’s gone.”

Gabriel’s eyes searched the empty room, “I can see that. And you thought I’d be the one to fuck things up…” A cruel grin formed on his features. “but that’s always been your job, hasn’t it?”

Their eyes flashed and thunder rumbled in the distance. 

Gabriel smirked. “So. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” they grit through their teeth. 

He rolled his eyes. “Must I do all the work?”

“Fuck you. For all we know, your clueless Principality is to blame.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “ _Please_ , that useless Principality isn’t capable of causing any trouble without his pet serpent. He’s probably wallowing in self-pity as we speak.”

The peaceful silence was broken by a loud crack. The old building shook and a car alarm outside rang out. In the atrium, splintered wood and glass littered the floor of the shop. 

Warlock woke to the chaos with a start. In their refuge among the shelves, Warlock grasped onto Adam’s arm. 

“Shh,” He soothed. “It’s alright.” 

Adam was calm, unflappable even in sudden disarray. Warlock nodded towards the front. “We should go.” He moved to stand but was pulled back down beside Adam, he had hold of his wrist and was holding onto him tightly. 

“No. It’s not safe… just hide here.”

Warlock stared at him, confused. “Of course I’m going to help them.”

Warlock noticed an expression of fear cross Adam’s handsome features. “What can you do, Warlock? Nothing. It's better if you stay hidden.” 

Warlock jerked his arm away from Adam, “I am going to go help them, I have to do _something_!”

His mouth set into a line. Warlock would have thought him angry if he couldn’t see his concern reflected back in his eyes. “No. You’re going to stay here, with Dog.”

“I’m going, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” 

Adam swallowed and steeled his emotions before standing up. “Right.”

Warlock tried to stand up but couldn’t. “Adam, _don’t_. Don't you dare.”

Adam shook his head. “I’m sorry, I am. I can’t let you do this, _I can’t_.”

“Adam,” he whispered harshly. “Adam!”

He pressed a kiss to Warlock’s brow. “I’m sorry.”

The world was growing hazy. “Adam, don’t…” 

Adam pushed the hair from Warlock’s face, watching as his eyes fluttered in sleep. “Stay with him, don’t leave his side.” 

Dog whined but edged closer to Warlock. He sat down on his haunches alongside him, ears turned for any sign of intruder and ready to attack. 

“Darling, I love you.” Whispered Aziraphale, reaching up to gently push Crowley’s hair from his face. His hands found Crowley’s face--Crowley’s eyes closing at the sensation. He reached up and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips, lingering only for a moment before stepping away.

Crowley reached for him, fingers lacing together. His eyes were wide--unhindered by the dark frames he typically wore. “I love you.” 

Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. “Come on, angel. It’s time to go.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Why don't we just run off? Every year without you has been torture. 

They will not split us apart again.” “If we run away, they'll find us. They will find us and separate us again. I can’t--I _won’t_ let Gabriel do that to us again. 

Aziraphale frowned then lifted the hand in his to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. He met Crowley’s eyes. “Together, then.”

Gabriel and Beelzebub stood in the rubble of the entry to the shop. Beelzebub stepped over an overturned umbrella stand and wrinkled their nose. “You’re right. It's filthy.”

“Aren’t you supposed to like filth?”

They grinned, sharp teeth appearing from behind their lips. “Didn't say I didn't approve. Clutter makes the world go around, _Gabe_.”

He rolled his eyes and his clear voice rang out into the remains of the bookshop. “Aziraphale, Crawly! We know you’re here. ” He kicked a pile of books, sending several across the room. “Look. We know you’re here, just make it easier on yourselves. You don’t stand a chance, a demon, and a worthless Principality?” He stepped further into the shop. “ _Where are you_?” he growled.

Aziraphale and Crowley appeared from the back room--hand still grasped tight in the other.

Aziraphale shrugged. “We have done nothing that wasn’t part of Her plan, Gabriel. Now kindly leave.”

Gabriel laughed cruelly. “And how would you know that? You’re nothing but a lousy angel who didn’t have the decency to fall like the other cowards.”

“But I didn’t fall,” he said quietly, causing Gabriel to still. 

The Archangel snorted. “Please, Aziraphale. We both know you will sooner or later, Heaven certainly has no use for you.” He stepped forward as if he planned to hit the other angel, his rage was palpable. 

Crowley stepped in front of Aziraphale. “Watch it, brother,” he said with venom. “If you lay one finger on his head and you won’t live to regret it.” He glanced at Beelzebub. “And you, what a good act you put on. Should have known you were still doing Gabriel’s bidding. What, I wonder, would The Dark Council say to that?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at the Prince of Hell. 

Beelzebub flinched visibly. 

So. They weren’t working on behalf of Hell. _Interesting_. Thought Crowley. 

Aziraphale noticed Adam off to the side of their hostile tableau. Adam looked… cold. His expression was nearly unreadable. To his concern, Aziraphale noticed that Warlock wasn’t behind Adam. Where had he gone? 

“How could you?” asked Crowley. “You were my brother, my friend. You should have protected him.”

Gabriel’s face contorted. “I did protect him!” he boomed. “What did you do except fall? And he was a sniveling mess after. I fixed him, _brother_.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, “You took my memories against my will after Armageddon. You made me forget what we were.” Aziraphale was standing tall, bracing himself as a soldier would. He faltered, “I trusted you, Gabriel.”

“All those years, I thought it was Mother’s doing. I thought it was punishment for questioning her, for doing what you were too scared to do.” Crowley hissed. “Imagine my surprise when I found my bondmate on Earth. Only he didn’t recognize me--and worse, he shunned me.”

“How lucky you found each other,” Gabriel sneered. 

Crowley stepped closer to the angel; his voice was hard when he said, “It doesn’t matter! I thought it was because I’d fallen, that She’d taken their memories of the fallen from them, but no, it was you.”

Gabriel smirked. 

Beelzebub was watching Gabriel, their eyes focused solely on their accomplice. Their face was drawn, paler than normal--even for them. 

“I thought if I tried to heal him, she would take him forever. I’d try. Drop hints and hope for a glimmer of recognition. I suppose all I needed to do was poke around in his head a bit. You fucking bad angel, you used my own damn enchantment against me; against _us_.”

“You told me it was for people who needed to forget, to ease their pain. That was what I did. You failed him and I fixed him.”

Crowley recoiled as if burned. Aziraphale’s fingers found his and gave him squeeze. 

“But why do it again? And why pretend to care about my welfare?” scoffed Aziraphale.

Gabriel glanced at Beelzebub. “Because you deserved it. You ruined everything. Everything. While _I_ sacrificed and put my own feelings aside. You, Aziraphale, on the other hand promptly shacked up with a demon and spent your time on earth _sullying_ yourself with him.” Gabriel was red with rage. “You refuse to follow the fucking rules and live with it like the rest of us. You’re the weakest of us all. A pathic, whimpering excuse for an angel.” 

Beelzebub looked strangely at him, their eyes widening in shock. “This wasn’t revenge for the failure of the Great Plan. You were jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“ _Oh._ You were, you took him from me because I did what you wouldn’t,” said Aziraphale.

“You were consorting with the enemy, Aziraphale. They turned their backs on us when they fell. They made their choices, in case you forgot, they left us. They left us all behind. You were one of her strongest angels, Aziraphale. Now, look at you. He did that to you.”

Beelzebub flinched and stared at Gabriel like he was tearing down their fragile hope, piece by piece. “You said you understood my reasons,” they whispered.

The archangel laughed bitterly. “How could I ever understand what you’d done, Beelzebub? How could you give it all up? Just look at you.”

Anger flashed on their face, their blue eyes darkening.

Crowley snapped. “Look at what you’ve become. You’re no better than what you claim us demons to be. This wasn’t her plan, it was yours. _Your_ revenge. In case you haven’t noticed, Mother hasn’t been listening to any of us for millennia. Does Michael even know what you’ve done to Aziraphale? Does Uriel?” 

Gabriel snarled, “They wouldn’t understand--they believed your survival was Mother’s will. Regardless, _Crawley,_ they would believe my word over that of a demon. 

“Would they? Because I don’t see them with you. ”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I did what I was meant to do. You have no right to question me.”

Crowley’s hands clenched, his yellow eyes narrowed. He spoke quietly, precisely, “What you’ve done is unforgivable. Since you seem to think it was such a good idea, let’s see how you like it.” He bared his teeth in what could only nominally be called a smile. 

In one swift movement, Crowley had Gabriel down and pinned to the floor--Adam rushing over to hold him in place. Crowley placed his fingertips on Gabriel’s temples, seconds later Gabriel’s eyes glazed over and fell shut.

Beelzebub moved towards them--blue eyes blazing with barely restrained anger.

Crowley snarled at them. “If you even think about helping him, you’re next. And you know as well as I do at the end of the day, Lucifer’s not siding with you. Not for this.”

Then, he stood and turned to Beelzebub. “Leave, _now_.”

They shook their head. “I won’t leave him…”

Crowley snorted. “He’d have left you in a heartbeat. He’s just using you, your connection to him. Can’t you see that? He won’t remember you Beelzebub. Any memories he had of this are gone. Permanently.”

They swallowed and took a step forward. “You could make me forget him?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. What you did to Aziraphale, to me, was wrong. I never should have written the blasted spell to begin with.”

“Please, Crowley.” pleaded Beelzebub. 

He shook his head. “Then this will be your punishment. Any ounce of kindness I would have shown you is gone. You let me believe you were my _friend_. you took him from me.” Crowley swallowed, then let the unconscious archangel fall to the floor. Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand behind him. “You severed me from Aziraphale. Now you get to live with knowing that the partner God chose for you would rather use you than love you.”

Beelzebub growled harshly; hands glowing with hellfire were raised to attack. Aziraphale stepped forward to retaliate, but Crowley was faster. He snapped his fingers, freezing them in place. In two steps, his fingers were against Beelzebub’s head. “You won’t think of us again, but you keep the knowledge that your mate loathes you.”

Beelzebub stood in a daze, blinking helplessly. 

Sounding worn out, Crowley said, “Just go.”

Beelzebub turned to look at the Archangel, asleep, unmoving. They bent down to adjust his lapels, their hand lingering over his heart before standing and disappearing.

He felt Aziraphale squeeze his hand. “Is it over?”

“I—for now.”

Aziraphale nodded. “What are we to do with him, Crowley?”

The demon bit his lip. “We need to put him somewhere, far away from here. When he comes to, he’ll probably think he got knocked out while performing a miracle.”

“Do you think Beelzebub will try to find him?”

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“But they still love him.”

“And they will have to spend eternity, knowing Gabriel used them as a pawn.”

Adam looked between them, warily eyeing the archangel on the floor. “that seemed too easy.”

Aziraphale glanced around worriedly. “Adam… where’s Warlock?”

He frowned, a guilty expression appearing on his face. “He’s asleep.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? He slept through all of this?” he asked skeptically.

Adam looked away, refusing to meet their gaze. “It was safer that way.”

“Oh. I see. Adam…” said Aziraphale, disappointed. 

Crowley touched his shoulder. “You better go wake him up.”

Adam looked at Aziraphale and Crowley. “Yeah.” He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and turned to venture into the stacks. 

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, wrapping him in a tight embrace with a smile. Feeling the years of grief and loneliness fall behind him, Crowley pulled back to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead, while he marveled for what felt like the thousandth time that Aziraphale was alive. Alive and in his arms. 

Face tucked against Crowley’s neck, Aziraphale mumbled “I keep expecting to wake up, to find this whole ordeal was nothing but a dream. To find Gabriel walking through those doors, laughing at me.” 

Crowley darkened, “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. If they bother us again…”

“Oh, Crowley. You wouldn’t.”

His eyebrows knitted together, “Angel, I’d do anything to keep you safe. I just got you back, I’m not losing you again.”


	23. Epilogue

**Six months later.**

There were boxes piled everywhere. Outside, a black Bentley was parked at the curb, a moving van behind it. 

Inside, two men were packing shelf after shelf of old books into boxes while a man in cream shouted at them. 

_ That is a priceless antique! You mustn't hold it like that! _

_ Don’t you know how old those are?  _

_ That is entirely uncalled for, young man!  _

Adam glanced up at the man in front of him. He grinned as warlock absentmindedly reached up to scratch his face, leaving a streak of dust behind. Their clothes were dusty—likely from the incredible amounts of dust they’d kicked up while packing. His laugh caught in his throat as blue eyes met his. 

“What?” asked Warlock.

Adam replied with a teasing grin, “Oh. Nothing.”

“Adam. Come on.”

He laughed, “you’ve got something on your chin.”

Warlock wiped his face with his shirt, “better?”

“No—here, let me.” He said as he reached across, rubbing his thumb over the spot. 

A loud groan came from behind them, causing them both to jump apart as if burned. “Hellspawn, please go help Aziraphale before he scares the movers off. I can hear him all the way upstairs.” 

He nodded, ears flushed before hopping up and running outside. 

Adam glanced up guiltily at Crowley. 

He groaned. “You’re killing me, Adam. It’s painful to watch, what are you waiting for?”

He groaned, “we agreed it was for the best, to be friends first. It’s been kind of a weird start to a relationship.”

Crowley folded his arms over his chest, “Mm… because friends spend most of their spare time together either blushing or staring into each other’s eyes and brushing dust off each other’s chin.”

Adam spluttered, “I—that’s not!”

“Do us all a favor and ask him to dinner.” he shrugged. “Just, don’t wait until it’s too late.”

“It’s not that, I just…”

Crowley sighed knowingly, “he likes you too. It’s clear as day, just dinner. He’ll say yes.”

Adam nodded, “I will… maybe once he gets settled.”

“Good… and Adam?”

“Yeah?” 

He grinned, “do it soon? I bet Aziraphale extra shelf space in the cottage. He says at least four months--I said one.”

Adam snorted. 

Aziraphale heard footsteps behind him as Warlock approached. He turned and smiled. “Just a few more hours and we’ll be on our way.”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving London, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled, “I like to think of it as retirement, dear. I look forward to waking up to the ocean breeze. Crowley won’t admit it, but I think he misses the sea.”

“The South Downs is much cooler than Savannah.”

“It is, but England is our home. I’ve never been fond of very hot weather and Crowley said he’d follow me anywhere I wanted go.” Aziraphale turned to look at the bookshop. “I think the South Downs suits us well.” 

Warlock nodded, “Aziraphale?”

“Oh, do be careful with that! It’s very old— _ hmph _ .” He glanced over at Warlock, “Yes?” he said, before turning his head to glare at a mover walking by. 

“Are you sure about this? It’s just, this is your home.”

He shook his head, “not anymore. It’s yours.” 

“I—thank you.” Warlock smiled at the angel, “I’ve seen your cottage, are you sure everything will fit? It doesn’t seem,” he paused, looking around the vast, slowly emptying bookshelves “big enough for all this?”. 

Aziraphale shook his head, “Warlock, you underestimate me.”

“It’s going in the spare bedrooms, isn’t it?”

He tugged on his waistcoat, let loose a satisfied wiggle, and winked.

Warlock sniggered at him as Adam and Crowley walked out to join them.

“...and the dining room.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow in surprise while Warlock held back a grin.

Aziraphale flushed. “And maybe a few shelves in the living room and our bedroom… but just the important ones!” 

“ _ What? _ ” asked Crowley--glasses slipping down his nose in surprise.

Aziraphale shrugged with a grin. 

Warlock smiled, shaking his head. “I look forward to seeing what you’ve done with the place.”

Aziraphale slipped his arm around Crowley’s waist and reached up to give him a quick peck on the lips. “My dear, I feel the same way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I started this fic in September, never picturing it would become so long. Another thank you to my betas; especially Euny_Sloan who has been helping me along and encouraging me not to jump ship since November. I really couldn't have done it without you! 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at [AziraphalesRareBooks.](Aziraphalesrarebooks.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> A very big thank you to my Betas: [Euny_Sloane,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euny_Sloane/pseuds/Euny_Sloane) [SummerOfSpock,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock) [Mouse9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9) and [Wren Truesong.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywren/pseuds/Wren%20Truesong) This fic would not have been possible without your help and kind words. Thank you so much for all of your help!
> 
> Another very big thank you to my artist, [3226629](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3226629/pseuds/3226629). Thank you so much for creating such a beautiful piece for my fic!!
> 
> [Click here to see the Full Image Masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632595)


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